Tie Me. Poem by Riano Harp

Tie Me.
My teeth shine colossal white, with discernment resting softly within your guts the viscousness of blindness will leave you with dread after a smile.
A glance from a tainted pool, molten black, -are they lampreys or mirages? - within what confusion names holy shall be a barren or a blast to your needs.
Tie Me.
The bleak Sun, scratched and worn, rises limply and peels rays upon your eyes- contingent to the rolling rather than the closing (or burying) .
Rain of beige patters the same beat- an aunt to a heart- upon the cracked roof, tiles soak in the stale water and grow in length- curling and rising into scythes fit for eggs.
Tie Me.
Although the roads and pale canals are carved in my face, grooved with delicacy, no room for virtue, I am not yet full. I still rumble...and quake...and roar...and stir...and groan...and bite- Let my teeth perform!
Bound me with the space of your hesitations and string my neck to the chandelier- 'The crusts of gold ritualised around the bobeche compliment the beauty of such light! ' states the 'fine' lady- But she doesn't notice the weeping pendalogues! Oh misery, Oh confusion, Oh- Misery!
Tie Me.
I'll unleash.
The intestines are the tunnels and the veins are the cracks, the blood is the pain and the breath is light.
I rise, I rise, I rise!
You wear your scars with pride, yet they peel.
You yield to the masters, yet beat yourself.
You laugh with intention, yet never feel good.
Ha!
Tie Me.
By testing me you ridicule yourself, your past laughs at your future. You're wet.
Come on!
Where are the nails?
Come on!
Where is the music?
Come on!
Where are the masks?
Come on!
Where are the patterns?
Tie Me.
Don't mistake me. Your convictions that bind your hands so tightly around my throat are no more than air to me. Land. Here ride the black cloaks. You don't believe I'm a match. See. Rise to me, come on- come on! Charge at me. Shoot at me. Laugh at me. You see? Go on, pick me up...
Try Me.