Pulsing              pulsing Orangesunflower Halos                halos God-childbreach birthBreakingthrough a trans-deathEgo-intercourseorgasmSpewing forthpyramid fractalsShatteringsoft snowflakes.The mothercried for herEmbryo made ofwindsHexagonviolets.She feels them.     They are notgone They never were Vines insidethe skull, My skull?     A skull Wrap around eyes, wrinkledEyes that know,That know they wish they didn’tEyes cold with age, so bold     Brutal Brute                                    I am the I,                                    I’m a powdersmear                                   A speckledwitness                                   A crack thatmakes you                                   Apparent ofa wall                                   A texturethat breeds her worry.                                  Mother Marymay I hold you?     No Means no     Means are “I”                                     I am I?                                     I,outsider?                                     I amhay-haired                         halos                               halos                                     They arefractured too.                                     Splinteringfrom my head                                     Reachingtoward that gushy warmth.                                         Soft, sosoft.         Throbbing                                     I can beyour cub, Mother,                                         I can seeit now:                                     Holy orbscrunching rustic citrus                                     They crashas one                                     And sporeas dust,                                         Thetwinkling mist                                             That rimsaround your eyes,                                     Solitudeoracle, you somehow shout                                     From a far, from a mouth of echoes                                     A thousandlight-years away,                                         Telling mewe’re united,                                         Telling menot to step                                         Into yourmoss garden                                         Thetabernacle of your malachite temple                                     That floatsbeyond in the shadow of our orbit,                                         Where Ivyshang low in wisps like your hair                                     Over yourface, hiding your smile,                                         Telling meI don’t need you. Why are you happy?                                       You tell me,                 “Now jump!” Poem by Tara Bartley Drawing by Janne Karlsson Also, check out the Apache books on Lulu: http://www.lulu.com/shop/janne...