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Spliced in a whorl of red sands

I am a bodiless head; I hold that moment

A fist of sheathless wires sway

A hydra of mouthed intangibles

Release spores like fireflies



Bleeding in the deadfall grove

In dust-curl corners I crawl like a newborn

To find mists of haloed candles

A glow of floaters on the iris, blistery wet

The anachronistic mitosis auspicates



In palm-fold shadowy quiescence

So I can begin to erect ant nests

For shardy mother senses and wombs

They tap and dice the umbilical feel of being

Or not; unborn



Opulent feral-breaths hammer-drilling

Racking my treasure chest of fool’s gold

I once emptied it with the fractal step-draws

(And the banshee-baby in the ruby room)

Tipped night inclined, he still claws on



The idiot scuttle drooling from opaque eyes

In narcotic-like stasis cannot speak or blink

That tongue (and the boarish dilation) was severed so soon

Though not early enough for thought waves

Or nearly enough for nail-unsliced palms



The nervous shake a din of tinned marbles

Skate and fall; cartoon like, what a joke!

Frottages of soulhaze-clouds are clanging strangers

In the earth-splitting stillness of delicate arrangement

There are none worthy to truthfully perceive



What was past, the hand makes a final revolution

It rolls around in honey so the dust and grit

Sticks, oh how euphemistically we dismiss

The fleeting drives to edges and forms; ghosts!

Denigration will penetrate the metronomic



Breaking of hearts

Like shattered sea-crest cups

Piquantly burrow and pierce soles

We can roll on, pretend they’re not there

Disappear, as the ocean would steal footprints



It is the delusional building of sediment upon fossil

Imbibing on pearl layered venom, my own and profane

The guttural unhinging of fangs, unleashing, striking



My suddenness into slivers of cold silence.



NJ Purdon   Eleven November Oh-three

From "Ecdysis: Collected Poems"