Wax, Craving and Ruddle

Dubiousness has
a white supple bellies
hear that Ahab
when the wind breaks my tongue
while I'm stretching my sails
till the whisper

We go way back
you are my home's threshold
and you bent on
standing at me
you the white skull
hang on to suspicion
like you retain
the muteness and the craving

Somewhere
There a boy was lost
Among the transitions
of sentence's passages
the stubble had pricked my face
and palms clustered themselves

The evolution's living instance
water light flesh and reason
fixed identity
of gothic wonder
the harsh god
in wax like wimpy man

My face constricted sand grain
I'm lifting my flesh
creasy leaf of skin fits me
but look more intently
Me the flame's muscle
faith
naked blade of myth

I've seen the ivy boldly
growing up from a stone
against all rules
I've seen calm faces
iconic trance
ascension on instalments
on fine-spun rungs
of waxen candles

I'm not able to imagine
you know
the camel and the eye
there's no humility
and patience inside me
the carnival in a solitary town
your fragrance
the air like creasy
all too soon your dress
I believe in rain's
ruddle and the dry land
we walk on

At the pure periphery
in a fine-spun nerves
of gossamer
and in any dewdrop
bravely sleeping
on the car's windshield
or a park bench
everywhere you are promising
and I'm looking for
similar to dried-up brandsteatters