The Kissing Ground

Sophie's sweat landscapes the claret red horizon thick serum trickles from a Sickroom - a death ward where cracked knuckles spatter the fjords moistening the planks; bathing the laths of anxiety ‘neath marquis de sade stumps Norwegian expressions of death - agoraphobia murdering actuality; the Dance of Life rapidly burns as a funeral pyre of Ashes are seized from your tribe’s headstone the stench of brother’s legacy replaces a protected breath and a Dead Mother can descry muted caterwauls between the Clock and the Bed the two guardians of quietus merely exit this clotted bridge contemptuously - in soured and staled delight