mesne profits rituals
The remorse of cutaneous progress
Prospering between the light and den of jewels
Like frozen lakes leading walkways to tempted riddles
Honoring the funerary mesne profits rituals
Held inside a cup of pheasant’s eyes
Adjoining to the wraps of tired journals
Next year will be without my compass
Or my wind-soaked hands on the porch rails
Of your tender jactitation of relief
And the esteem of drop-floor screens
Hiding in the eclipse of hollow curtains
Repetition for the den of a maligned forgotten price