The Nut Graph
Fjords of desire are in a reliquary.
One survives on ceremonies.
A harvest forages for some time,
rich outturns render some more.
Sunlight has its shortcoming.
I saw the weaning away of our
lariat before we were cuffed
Didn’t want to destabilize the set-up,
waited for it to wash away. Words let
up when wounds weep, hanging like
tousled passages of a soiled text.
When carcinoma snatched her breast
she refused to replace her eye tooth.
Pitching to be god? Try changing
someone’s drake face. One can
cushion a curve not alter it.