Some other torn place
With scraps to the misinterpreted fields,
At stages of grain for uncovered space
Where the smothered sun
Revealed all of bleeding love.
A nude back held the same streaks,
The same lashes
Torn towards Heaven, above –
As a road was dressed in ivory.
Bending at censored sensory
To the view of dining on stale graveyards,
Weeping with smog in darkened eyes.
There were fields, untouched,
Skin that was unscathed.
There were waters turning backwards
When beauty was rising upwards.
There were suicidal angels –
Jumping from cliffs,
Paralyzed at their wings.
Their white could not ever show
Upon rows of grain in tow.
Some other wilderness where faces collect
Themselves, to inching teardrops.
Some spot where memories resurrect –
The teeming notion of another fin
To reveal where water is,
Not of the eyes, not within hands.
No show of shame could live
While the nest should give.
A way to depart from shorelines –
Weeping without a trail
Burning at the feet, from behind.
Some other place that had existed forever
Deep beneath blinding light, bound together.