like silk,
like bone,
like echoes,
like a recurrent wisp
a bony-wristed fist-
exposed and glowing as if an apparition-
raised and ready to strike,
raised and ready to strike
a familiar warning,
the click of the bone's wretched sounds echoes...
bone on flesh against bone;
blood on your silk face.
there's always a morning
after a bloody, haunted
evening's sins
evaporate.
"...on the horizon
and swimming away..."
as a diaphanous dawning yawns
as a prelude to every day's mundane...
