For mercy

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“Flower Clouds” by Odilon Redon.

An epilogue of a vista

in father’s ocean eyes;

the echo of the dream

fallen in conniption

a chrysalis of fuckery

at the mind-felt waves

in ice welts;

torturing

in a quasi-silencing of shame

as the wind blows the sail,

riffs on the skin,

witnessing the passivity of the shore

in winter carver;

something in your eyes

makes me want to forget,

in the early morning mist

concise, in late abject

flower clouds

in fragile dissensus

in the unfertilized wild,

far beyond the waiting sand

now onto dark eyeless waves

that seek the strait of death.

 

The cherry branch in requiem

in the mirror of the shore,

your mind

benumbed

in the prelude of footfall

and silence that

presses the skull of sea cliffs

forgotten

by the breast of the albatross,

leaving me the fuck alone;

and I remember the waves

depending on the atavism

rived with blood,

and robbed in shadows

of dreams; mourned,

the ocean wells

rising with white leer

through death

coming through

the womb of portend

in the blue birches

with a shell; a daughter of clam

endured the sea,

caught in loneliness

of dark, and beg

for mercy,

for mercy.

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