Poetry

The blue stare 
will stretch on the horizon. 
 
A princely moon 
enters the perforate shell― 
 
in the oviform eye, 
of the bruised lake. 
 
I was ready to drink 
the potion, the viper offers. 
 
 
Tears and laughter, the 
twin ecstasy of dying 
 
by hinged fangs.