# of sins

on my knees in
the wet mud with
great red fists of sky
looking to pry
them open

chattering again
and again
like animal’s
teeth and bone.

begging and pleading,
heading stormbound,
-south-
for exhilarated exile.

i
am altered notes, ringing
those same bones syncopated
with tremor, and synchronism.

the sin tastes like music,
reverberating
ivory and pink tissue
a tumbled mellage of mangled melodies

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