To All The Silhouettes That Hide in The Dust.

Adam and Eve Cranach web
Hair entwined, inside my opened cavity.
Every tussle of the neck was met with the sound
Of hair
Combing itself.

Death Rattle shook perspiration
From my throat,
That glinted under the florescent lights
Like cataracts.

Each sip of tap water
Projected a whistle.

A reminder of the wide planted incisors
Which occupied my mouth.

“Cogito Ergo Sum…”

And everyone pulled leather suitcases
Out from underneath their bottoms.
And described the contents
Using story format.
And the Truth found clarity
While contemplating nothing at all.

A discussion of Soft Kills smiled among the sparkle
Of wax which leaked from an Advent Candle.

St. Christopher breathed through a filter of mucus
That sat in his nostrils like an anchor.

Annunciation clung to the description,
But failed in the entertainment
Of redeeming conquest.

He raised his arms
Like a Baptist minister,
But the audience upon which
His arms called to service,
Were not of religious providence.
So it was,
Their slanted eyes
Held together
By a forever squint.
Prayed to the Abyss,
And confused their echoes
For answers.

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