an empty room is a strange home

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an empty room is a strange home

embracing fascinations – white pressure

exerting fluorescent green

skin, yellow

paintings, in holy triangles –

i’ve been handed an invitation.

to disrobe,

is an extended effort of will –

            the aura of three surrounding, witnessing (my actions).

                                                                        “given the account of your life,

                                                                                                                        how do you

plead?”

(always the serpent

gutteral, belching

red speech)

the precipitation of a substance from solution,

solid,

            uneasy

                                                misgivings

and hesitation.

in the empty room,

my rising sex

pressing,

pressing against mute tiles

rubbing for friction

            heat, against

this dark indifference.

hours,

spent –

                        observing,

minutiae,

carefully noting

the breaking off point.

where death may be concerned

the moment I enter you

simultaneous rupture,

a sweet engagement, choral hemorrhaging –

            i stretched out my arm and death came upon me,

            sweet succulent rapture

            convulsions fired in Autumn’s arms.

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