My bride in white is the moon this night.
White lights of obscurity, like invisible ink;
a radiograph of rhythm. It’s hot in
this place. I could fall into a conversation
becoming a lion’s leap of certainty, but
my nervous system is an outer-space
experience, halting the fiction of my
“somebody” enigma—the emotional stress
of randomness. I, the Pelican in a rapidly
rising wind, conjure hurricanes to the waves
of my soul where daffy eels find doorway
to tempests that are fixed in my thorax.
What’s called to one’s attention abruptly
can become an illness. I burst like a frozen
pipe to the limits of ravishing. Festered
within is a monocular gaze of a small
silvery fish loosened from the hook—

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