I feel you waxing in the night
Like the immense moon of golden tinge;
Silken lining fringe by fringe,
I can feel you hissing a misspelling in the macabre.
...
I am an automatic wanderer:
I lackadaisically brave
The riotous sea as I banter
With the Sun’s flustering fever
...
In the high-noon,
The muse acclaimed
Like the enigmatic moon
Of star-kissed flight;
...
Georgia, sprawl of lacquer, why do you face your boudoir
With that spark of a face - the aftermath of a beautiful mess?
You hold your cup of tea brimming with acrimony,
Georgia you are lovely in your thousand-fringed dress
...
And you unlock the door,
Revealing the rancorous streets
The sunlight exploded on your face.
...
Your hands
Calloused
Toiling in this drudgery
Impugn to the wildfire
...
I have been breached
By the onslaught of
Nothingness.
...
Nothing ever beats
A silent drink beside
An inamorata
Or alone still,
...
Apart from all men,
That have taken the world
Of genders, ambivalent or certain
Might have blunted themselves
Like stones on the shore
...