ruling planets cut thru
the screen of midday's midnight--
juggernauts with blowing foghorns.
super-schizoid percolations of color...
the earth herself posing as a spinning
sitter, whose turns are fed to the
paralytic lucidities of turns that will be.
yet there's no turning to be had, when she
hatches.
the screen suddenly seals--midnight's
midday...& thru the screen's holes
serpentine wavicles enter the potentia
of billions of breathers.