the vertebrae and their arms and slender golden run
the two cherubim that much love is poured
above the instincts of some hasty
waste it by rushing bitter and worldly to be
there are pictures of his skull whims
doll gestures and vague snatches
of powder soul
sinking a story so beautiful
cherubim life is a nightingale haughty
a carnival and a mask digested in the body
Butterfly’s gentle to remain as poor 
her victims rises in November
the world that you call and it will nebulous
animal and misty
I touch the wounds off slowly
I venture to them and recognize
on life