kern

Pipe the last letter, first digit–
the concatenation generator
taps, clicks a steady rhythmic
parse of brittle lips and tongue.
The alpha and omega mimic
a rose’s soft petals, strict thorns,
a kiss hereafter and nevermore,
persists in perpetuity and void.

A woman in pale skin and ash
rustles through rouge wisps
fervid carnal carnival of quills
tattoos, random voice, and
vague memories; desirous
to recurse in prior lives
and sojourns yet to be.

A difference equation of metaphors
and similes transmogrify the static,
true or probability, opposite or anomaly
to warm toe prints and rune-colors
immerse this heart in wet concrete
and glass for all and none to see
Concatenation operands ab’end
and fall between the wayward kern
of things that never come to be,
a universe of never parallel,
an en-dash in asymmetry.

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