Goldleaf

They bring me gilded things in prickly hands
and stroke my spine with vomit lines
that chill and daze in wonder.

There lies a loneliness in that embrace
that nothing buys and nothing frees;
it only shuts what’s empty.

What messengers have bloody rapier eyes
and skin like frozen lunar plains
that shroud the sun a moment?

I know what makes the blinded spirit bleed
when reaching out for greater things
to come and bloom within it.

Unfold the cage they’ve made of trembling arms;
not all that grasps will bind you down.
Put down your empty boxes.

Come fill me up with something I can feel
before my stomach shrivels up
in one great gush of hunger!