With drawn up spit from the boot, with semen and tension spilled on the dark duff as windfall then drafted unto the powers and summoned from penumbra of cologne and pit sweat: this blood loam saltwater curse unbinds the land from the thirst of wretched creatures and their wretched needs feasting beneath the voyeur canopy and its fool’s crown of dwindling spires. With concoction imbibed to divorce desire from its death-borne shores, with licked cragged heels of the coast carving their brutal arches from stone: I curse you to channel and canal the sky. To runnel thunder down the soft glade of your spine and be always torn into night along a saw-toothed horizon, your memories unstitched and perpetually re-parted each night by the cold steel sickle of the moon and salted through with stars. With this wish to be opened: I curse you.