I spy with my little eye
a unicorn on a piece of pie,
an iron cross and a butterfly;
I spy the day I die...
Asleep I was
a wasted storm, a wandering
rain in stony void, blowing
sparrow bodies on the scree,
over cast-off rocks
warm from the hand of lust, thrown to kill
in hunger and in pain, keyhole-seeing,
bent, your face again.
rigid in a night
of fallen birds, back
still pressed on the wheel of love,
your bear-brown eyes, your
warmth on mine, your laugh as close
as dawn to day
before the waking
breaks it all away,
alone then, and more alone to come
locked in a crime no exit wound explains,
for the angel and the demon boys agree
they'll never open doors for the likes of me.
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Images: Sanctuary, 1965, by Max Ernst. Fair use via wikiart.org
That Which I Should Have Done I Did Not Do, 1931, by Ivan Albright.
Fair use via wikiart.org