If love burnt. (Mernb)

If love burnt your hands were you 

at the hearth Of its creation 

Furnace of piroclastic lanes 

Gloved words thrown down 

Amongst castanet flames 

those that drowned their sorrows 

usual Drank in the constant forests 

of Black mood turned right

Bookmarking irrelevance 

Behind linguistly calling eleven 

At the Hundreds of thorny

Paws leaving trails to 

Dead rose beds left

Unmade with the only

Plough in the night skyline

Free from neon clouds

If love burnt your hands 

were you at the hearth 

Of its creation.


and where on earth are you.


Feasting on gated hypnotist 

And client of cerebral abused

junguist digiting diary.