The Once Invisible Conclusion

when even the dawn’s fingers are blue
fruits without stems
the rubber seeds of revelation
near a glass of water on the kitchen counter
breathing like a plastic bag in the wind
my obelisk has reached into
the blue horizon’s ripping clouds again
however gnarled the grass may be
the opium of creation
and every year waiting for correspondence
when I feel gory heaven I feel as if
awakened under chain or fork
can only grunt as Rocky Balboa would
the swampy streets send up
cigarette butts misunderstandings dark glass
whatever constitutes my soul today
through walls of collapsing
the fruit blue on the window sill
carry the mirror with both hands
through a cave like the future
a lichen of blood on my shadow
dice rattling overhead
I pace to exterminate nostalgia’s gray carpet
eyes barbecued to a temple
gathered only a prehistoric amusement
grace found in bridges of laughable news
a blue spot growing on my belly