The Pink Opaque

Snakes in knots tingle

their spin

on a table of numbers

leading me into

incantation

Subtle body artifacts

ended up in the hole

I’ve been nesting in

savoring opposition to light

hero to fledgling

son of a broken jaw

By staring into the sun

you may never have to

work again

I recommend a slow descent

into the thick syrup of being

cleansed by the lapping

of mental waves

All broken drops that have ever been

All the times you split the tree

bold yet illiterate

All there is to utter