Illusionary Traces of an Isomnia Affair

With heavy hands we imprint our name
on the chosen ground,
and solicit our dealers
with poker stars.
She spoke in silhouette
and carved the languishing dreams.
"Never believe in what you know,
but in the traces that have yet to show. . . ."

If the murmuring voices suspend sensibility,
the rendered devices postpone symmetry.
Tomorrow, a chaotic breed of possibility.
The branded turns are nailed shut.
The shrubs scar the exit of a lust.
Rash, Reckless
surrendering to the fits of a primal thrust.
Raw, Razors
sketch the skin anew--
Leaving old boundaries rustling
in the ashes of fertility.