Please peel the crust off the window,
to wash your frigid thoughts to yesterday,
because you won't see clearness by wandering in marble.
And I will welt under that purple fire,
blackened by your twisted blindness,
as my reflection finds home in silence,
with my secrets in pockets,
making weapons for my use.
And no,
you will have no knowing of that.
And as the fire washes out the face of I;
you will glance at milky day like I am known.
But by then I will have wandered in my body without a spine.
And you will not know to find my secrets in the maze I make,
because my firearms will have bombed my marrow,
twisting my impressions.
And as I curve my mask will reveal to you,
and I will wish;
that you will know my light,
by stripping off the blisters I have made,
blessing my body with a spine,
as you glance at my truth.
