Âge sombre

I'm fucked up
Because the fonopost
Makes me cacoethesic

Ages ago and sombre
Times when women
Scented exotic

Thighs and eyes
Napes and knees
Were so erotic

Argentina
I wish I were
Envoyant nautic

Folly, too right
It's not a mother
I'm Quixotic

I'm so over
to hold it back,
The lust hypnotic

For a heart that
Percuotere
Like palomillic

Nocturne and
The birds that sing
Ala panegyric.

Electromagnetics and Danse Macabre

Bury me under a lightning rod,

in a copper casket

filled with brine

from the dead sea.

That's my only wish.

Turritopsis nutricula can stay,

if she can

handle all the salt

in my electric repose.

Place sand, not earth

on the top of me.

That I can swim out

through fulgurites and

wrest the air again

into my cured lungs.

"You can in fact,

danse if you want to." - me(4)

Don't touch my head

if I appear to be dead

because when I wake,

I may make the mistake

of collecting your hand.

You'll need those,

in theory and fact.

Just save your tears

I'm covered in salt.