Portentous public executions with my former likeness
etched on the helm of a ship sailing southward, while
elongated fingertips point north in absolution.

Absolutism was something reworked in the hitching
of the rain gusts, the gluttonous storms chasing
children crowing high pitched laughter scuttles, or
the tree's blooming just a bit too early this year.

You told me to look -
watch the buds bloom in the blackness
of another night; eyeballs cliff diving
over the window edge; that faintly
womanish scent of stars in the air, the
dimly winsome brushstrokes of tree
limbs stretching monochromatic into
the night while heavy cars crawl up
the hills.

Radio's sing their songs long before their
passengers echo them;

absolved by matronly confessions,
absolved with a peck of saliva on the
cheek, a book cradled by cold fingers,
or the wind speaking to me, as it always
did before I began to move away from
shadows of exterior rewordings, each tight
lipped smile shaking, knees nobly, scars,
like stars on the brow of the world;

the world
in the form of a girl
costing along the coastline;

those sounds
tucked in tight
by the moon
with it's urban

Saying now that I loved you then
means nothing anymore though my
mouth aches with the swollen ebb of
denying it;

be it better that those
days are dog eared, or
forgotten, be it better
that you swell away
with the elemental tide,
keep flesh lined, blood
veining into the tree trunks,
alive, and unmoving,

scoffed, and uncovered,
bare but for the lamplight,

silent, but for the