In
the history of all hitherto existing pseudonyms
Yours
is the most gloriously luminous O it blinds
The
eye’s inner rhyme the retina of rhythm
Dark
against an unholy precipice and weightless
I
stand waiting for your contagious glance
You
offer me a gift of flowers that you stole
Off
an unfavorable god a bouquet of monolithic
Filaments
and busted angels' wings I think
That's when you toss your fake name in dust
O
the parching heat the putrid light the air
Gone
thick and hazy and obliterated syllables
You
might as well be blonde and amoral O
Offer
me your obscure witchcraft so as to touch
Your
cool skin against mine altered forever
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