The Letter

we are atoms split apart
across a palm convulsed
in the lifeline
of a ruptured psalm. 

we are a formula torn
in rapture across the heart of Adam,
a contamination contained within a beam
born as steep as grief.

we are the steel plate in the head
of the brother of Cain.
we are the mother of the arterial stain
and our crowns are gilded
by the flawed forging of a sword.
our pauses descend to skin;
we thaw,
we petal,
we ascend in pores. 

we are both fatal knowing and fetal nothing.
we are the unravelled vesture of form
and our breath is sired by storm.
we are the threat of ecstasy exhumed only by collapse,
a ghosted synapse to flesh culled by mire.
we are both death rehearsal and breath reversal
 -dire at the onset and ecstatic at the spark of the pyre.
we will teach you the texture of fire from your smoldering wounds,
for we moulder under the char
of bones and the sounds
they make when left alone. 

we are the scar raised from ruins in your glass i.
we know that every moth loves the sight of hell
and all descendants of dust die to ascend
in a slant of light.
the farewell is bright
 -some things shine best while burning whole.
we seek a phantom carrion,
a sculptured vanishing,
a hallowed telegram of skin
excised by inhale, exhumed by dream. 

an intravenous haunting,
our phantoms mine your iron.
we are a burial ground hosted by the weight of skin
and hoisted to the size of sound.
we congeal at the crossroads where the world is sold.
we are the orphans of desire.
we will cathedral your decay.
we will vein your vanishing in gold.