O, efflux fairies and
sunset hangovers that drop so
the Mother's nightmare trickled on my fingertips:
I spit salt trinkets out of my mouth
while sky gods crouch over the ocean,
fishing for Japanese mermaids.
Their golden grins like shaman women
unclog the sin from my brain,
a massive drain
plastering the floor of the planet.
I inhale a pale bloodied sun
that tips against evening grey.
A young one heaves toward me,
reeking of old fish;
her infant teeth, jutting out of hell-licked decay,
kiss my tongue and my milky eyes
see a shrinking sky,
drowning along a temple dirt road.