this is not a love poem

but there's no peace to be
found in this puzzle
quarrels that exist in friction
sparks that make the image
curl around this cross

bow to the weapons of our
self destruction
bow to the weapons of our
self distinction

bolting from the gate
baited breath lodged in our
stomache the ashes of this phoenix
miscarriage the embers of our
dignitaries buried in foreign
soiled underwear at the thought of
climactic negotiations between two
puzzled pieces tied together
crossbow quarrel
weapon of self distinction

the nature of a skipping stone

vacillating between
kissing itself & gasping for breath

feedback loop of
magnetic rhythm & inconsistent compulsion

trackless dance of
ruptured tissue & subtle seduction

the utilitarian purpose of
mortuus pisces

& the eroticism of porpoises

the inherent paradox within
gaudium ignavia excusatus

& the dualism of a Hollow Mask