out of body out of

A battered staircase leads to must,

a bookcase glimmers in lunar dust-

bathed by piercing cratered swoons

a parade of pears in yellowed lace

pins your retina to a waxing place,

the red rust redolence of indolent musk

spells with brief sleep the patina of moons:

every insight an insight

into the futility of insights.

In that lumina of nocturnal shade

you were the lizard on the arid shale,

shorn of scales on the dizzy down.

You thought it was astral to neatly creep

in parallel to the course of spooky stars:

pointing at Polaris, you were misinformed.

It's not that is was evil,

it's just that it was pointless.

Four months of perfect aridity

there in the polished mirror-

you still do not taste your gods,

here in the breathing desert.