she carves the night

she carves the night

into

a

gutter

a throat

chimera's swivel

their hips

and

invert

mortar

no longer

safe

air around

now protected

fat oblongs

of history

two parked

next to eachother

compelled

by the

bourdon bell

we spill

into the

square

into

the Seine

I smell

of

river

of burnt

wood

this is

disparate

this is

radiating

lines

a

vascular

vaulted

cathedral

ceiling

I think about

Caliban

I think about

Ariel

like a cumin seed

caught

between my teeth

I always

hated

Prospero