Ebullient field of stars throbbing with nectar;
Startling the void,
The hum of insects rising as a voice
Searing off the thromboids
My bent chest, arrested with the weight
Of heavenly urchins Time and Scene
Wake me from their undulating chords
Explain in plainsong what it means

The air is never meant to prince
To the king, Leaden Gravity
Nor the light let loose its leather reigns
On the chariot’s calamities
Err to the night, its frozen breath
Sing over its shoulders, undertow
All gravesites crown with fresh bouquets
Everyone who will never know

Rhythmic decimals, Euclidean architecture of
Proteins
Resisting with each breath, measured against scales of grain
Maddening with insolvubility with the sprit of things,
The peace of stars left alone of gravity as
God intended but for the drinking
Mankind, or what is
Divined from insanity

They are homologous critters pasteurizing the
Air we see
Arrhythmic, ******* blood sausage
And unmanned celestial destinies
They are doctrine,
DNA eroding along the edges of print
The cast iron machinations of envy
Untamed eyes on canon flint
Press on, Press your
Emotions tripping on fingertips
The banal brigade  
I resist;,  A child holding a fist

Childhood, a delicious vision of swishing hips
Resisting time with a telescope’s persistence
Distance is Age* (*the Rage of
Existence)
The Calabash Nebula, its bipolar
Remembrance
the fisticuffs of proteins
Insane with the interstellar
Insistence
of Conversations, and our minds each wove a;
My brother, the medicated super nova

Maybe venture there
Where the irradiated dare
To speak, to spike, to writhe
To deny life to children caught inside
These editors of scripture,
Hands removed and tongues blistered
With thyme, sulfur and rosemary
The words as a thin runnel carrying
Wonder, Fear, the clink of crystal
Loomed etiquette diluting the Vistaril

Maybe dance,
Create a universe by chance

Nuphar carlquistii; disheveled parish; her dynasty
Deoxyribonucleic barcode, celestry
E Chord, timbre and thunder
The moon is delicious, burnt umber
Whose tomb, Venus
What heir to the doom of ,
What plant pruned, sheared from
The bemuse of the dead, the naught
The wreath of fig leaves, the drum beat
Frought

The winch of excentrics emanating cross hair dares
The layers, childhood and sound and her scent
The cinch in this fabric, Memory
From which all temptations seed
Euclidan Butterfly, at which point God
Supercedes, not breathing so
No words; rather, the pass
Of Mercury until it becomes glass
Like insanity,
The pupae aches to bloom, fast