˘ (pwä-’tem)
Styx and Stones Ryan Kendall Plans of building empires in one’s roots. Spoke construct to destruct. Inability to see by the forming of hands and hands. Traced estimates of intestinal alignments that ceased with your implantation of branches of my insides. Following the Nightingale’s chorus, spoke of true lovers among fake bodies. Whom nested upon that Willow’s leaves. Ambushed by hauntings, a strange imagination meant for diease; all who are diseased. Language, and his language. My left hand carries your eyes and my right rests against the walls of your stomach. Growing into floors and shooting voices through ceilings; extracted from existence yet living. Hardly human. Witnessed thy Willow twist into serpents; branches scaled and writhing. How tasteful, Fool.
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Poictesme2011(final?).indd 23
5/17/11 3:34 PM
