An Ode to Oath
Nothing is worth saving but waste. I, their child, wince at ovals, wring the serpents neck Awake to kinetic beams of sirens. A beatless tear of linen in between static split ends. He stares back.
Triplets of O’s cut hold of tretured alleyways in pistol shells. She, as if her ripe violet petals Ask of a scalpel’s slice. Battered. He stares back.
Everything is worth scraping but haste. I, first apologetic. Then frank. A sweet tooth grown in infinitas of sheet dishes. My uprooted molars nail to. Her hips perplex his lips in the O’s that are his pupils. Unapologetic; shameless. He stares back.
Her decadent tail –– skewed, tenderly. A cage, free matrimony. They took an Oath of Eulogy. There are three whole truths to this: his, my brother’s, mine. A zero
marks an X over our other’s –– a quantal twist wiggles free. He stares past.