Lonely View

The restricted heart shrinks bitter and remote, punishes the spinal watchtower with ghosts of tunnel vision. Keyhole surgery in a dreamy eye, so acclimatised to nightmares, dissects each cold memorial of the lids that cannot shut. From the slitted earthen throats flows dew and morning steam, blood rivers course the wheat burned black from heat exhaustion. It isolates the feelings and prods them with white sticks and in so rousing justifies the clear-eyed vision. Blue porcelain statues reflect patinas of desperation, diseased with sunspot black, the souls of latent atrophy. What a spiteful lonely view when gleaned from an ivory basement, broke love in a dark bone cage until sorry is all I have.