By pre-birthright, perfect

release into this perceptual

douse.

Get well flower fires

in hissy showers

of welcome.

Long hauling short, open

eyes underwater.

Here comes the world,

unlike any other.

~Before there was a first for anything,

sound cleared its throat, to wet the Ocean.

Heavenly bodies had the *** of souls, that

came into themselves through the ******

of space.

Naked as what came along, as naked as what

came along...unlayered by mentation.

The purest and smoothest drafts, drafting

nakedness as the only symbol of arrival.

These gods and goddesses that kickstarted

the will of Will itself.

Are unendingly chanted first and foremost

of sound, enchanted to meet anything~

The hollows of cheeks

wrung with shadows,

indrawn for the honesty

of betrayal.

Moist eyes slurp their skull

to spermy glints.

Down to the gospel of flesh

and bone, they read silently

to one another:

everything is one...and you

are alone.

Summarily as something

there goes, a creature in the

speed of its light lives out love.

Orienting details as if scenting

through an aura of flora.

All its cells playfully nibble to

regeneration, a polytheistic scene

in the making, as holy as Thou.

There's no stock advice

for what tires fundamentally--

only the indiscriminate telling

of burden to itself.

How good a place to know

as any, to spread the creaks

of bone to an ear with a

heart so disposed.

They always hear, they always

understand...they're always

too full.

Wildly clanging bells, soundless--

housed worship withdrawing

senses...your button black pupils

struck dead.

Alarmingly alive, wearing *******

vengeance in pure.

Both Christ and high priest tearing

open your skin, to shed a

blasphemous tour.

Exemplar energy transference,

popped cellophane wrap round

mileages of barbwire.

Eavesdropper, peace-fingered

tongue thru fangs...plunged in

red rondure, swell fruit.

Salival juice, moonlit seafoam --

hard jazz tripping your wire.

Asked to Come again--questioningly

striking, you always come again

on the flip side, straight up.

That notched spine: O sole mio.

Bite till darkness takes cover

in me.

Forehead spread, primly kissed--

the crushed gentleness of a sleeper

who's walked wakefulness to ol'

silences.

Made meek by mad sways of logic,

so much day to be had mid the weak

grip of the hour.

Always the more, always the less--for

having knelt to what's unspeakably spent,

sign upon sign sealed over.

Bound by the luster of preciousness, a soppy

flash in mesh.

Something therein cries: furnish the mark,

that I may kiss it.