Knights in velveteen armor,
Nights wrapped in sticky flesh.
How goes the lark?
It’s singing sweetly,
Beckoning and stealing away,
Threadbare in the glossy air.
Days of their finest
Malefaction and reproach,
Guttural and drumming.
Where goes the mockingbird?
It’s righteous and pure,
Blue in ineffable wisps,
Tasting of nirvana’s lips.
Go now, my beloved, fly
To seas swelling, writhing
Obliquely with worry and fear.
Oneness, a failing, falling façade
One, which is but sum, not
Farer or nearer than none.
Patterned repetition beseeching
The mind, whispering slightly
“she, she is just a picture.”
Thirteen mentions of better no more,
Spoken, stabbing at an empty core.
Perseverance,