Bio

He was touching me on my head.
He was trying to apparition, I believe.
He fed a red cardinal to the rats,
a horrid man. Was this Dickens I'm remembering?
He fed praise to a red cardinal
in a dream with his teeth like a rabbit's.
He partook.
He partook of statues only as crows do.
Even his red cardinal soul
was incapable of blushing.
He thought your horsey intention
was critiquing and, frankly, too horsey.
He was standing something like this.
He faced into your breath
as if he were searching for a receipt
for something. I bet that was uncomfortable.
He became a conoisseur of funereal pillows.
He grew more blameful, according to the garden.
He became supersaturated with sound
as a deaf man's bell.
He grieved that he required you.
He trained patients to find his heart
when he misplaced it, in a game
inside that institution.
Something was cut out of paper.
They said it resembled a red cardinal.
It just looked like an ox to me.
A loutish red ox.
He sang a song to a man named Dusan
whom he had never met.
His homosexuality was not Cached,
so it is possible he is in Heaven today,
if not Purgatory at least.
He was a great husband to Disbelief
until Disbelief betrayed him greatly
on the road to a rabbity sort of quietus.

Who can blame him for the petroglyphs
he left behind? You might do the same.