Dark Poetry

dredging the headwaters of his tumultuous speak

his pain; tasting schizotypal  sea foam 
from the ocean of his rapid tongue ;

I vacuum-sealed my own dichotomy 
twice to assure there was no spillage

as outside of me, he wept words like blood

and laughed words like gold

inside of me, he fit no fixed mold; 
it is not his fault
his paranoid rotary motor 
dams the mouth of his river 

where is the funnel 
of arcane kindness?
I need to refill him 
his eyes are in drought.

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