And here, rising parapet

to the timeliness of this grotto song

a fault line fine as a mohair thread

twigged and pulled taut as fish-on-the-line

and teaching these caresses one after the other

the tug the violent thrashes – tail in the air –

and armed like this, hear the heat that rises

magma in the centre all around

melting points, lines in general, fizzed to smoke

leaving just breath on the ferns and diamonds.


Fish jaws pull out of their sockets

long bones, the cartilage spring loaded

to reveal tongue and throat and dark unknowns

of insides, as if interiors were the only motivation

putting in, taking out

life force, all that longing hunger all that

sprinkle of desire

all those cold cold hours before the fire warmed in fully

and took the fish from the sea and

swam them into thigh muscles

involuntary seizure, pain, release

the quiver of ferns and diamonds.


The gods took on promise of everything hard

so nothing would penetrate skin

to keepsafe

from this unpicking, this wayward puncture

but only small mistletoe stemmed outwards from the grotto

and fleshwounded him

so the sky had its

fill of diamonds.





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