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the wind was in the stirrups of the long wheat; golden silly with sunbeams -
bent in the barrel of a whorling breeze, tumbling over Summer’s feet.
the horizon had begun to surge with morning and chimney stacks. a blood-yellow rose -
against a velveteen blue as solemn as a mute choir with a megaphone.
the hills had begun to unearth and take on the semblance of invisible glory
arranged by divine erosion seeking the solace of an ocean.
downhill of a tide.

the very air was in the aire of a long retreat from the motley villainy of ruined things.
just a hint of sparrow in the whirling plea of all Summer’s dream.
the Leviathan of dawn had purged both Ink and Star from the evening score. blunt as a nose -
on the voluminous face of a petite prayer, petitioned to a dial tone -
in the key of your surrender. as a faith from some remembrance of a risible Story.
as told by a blind devotion seeking the one place that a notion
doesn’t lie.

as a kissing farce.
and pilot
all of a sudden the sails were empty-limp in the tepid sea of ever yawning soliloquies.
lurched into stillness by an angry god snoring through the movie. your eyes bark at the moon
on an atoll of unbearable enigmas, but ever startled by the calliope of your Heart’s Desire’
at the very peak of your weakness. It thooms! like an iron lung in the dark
alone with an impossible star. Like a daisy in a marathon.
or a clock for a spoon full
of “ why?”.
as fools do, i do in a maze of undoing.
I roam the cataract -
a ghost, woven into spinning smoke
and double stitched where the hymns are bleak
with a wry giddy disaster for a smirk
with the most lost eyes.

and then I [  ]
In the moment everything is still
like a humming hornet in a begonia of irascible
misfortune, made glorious summer.
all the worlds engaged in fluorescent play.
the opal of all agonies
displaced by all the ghouls
of rabid faith.
our epiphanies are random
but we define the sojourn of our solitaryTogetherness.
as our every kingdom is an abandoned kiss
where the stars that all falling
are falling for you.
and all the worlds, some sort of hemisphere
of absolute destination -
on all sides,
oh what is this space between words and the emblem of speech, enchanted by the calamity
of opening my mouth to ask the very same thing?
oh how do i bloom so much with all my fairies Fae and all my moons New Earth
surging in the pixie ****** of what i can only assume is my purpose
among deader men than my living ****?
oh how i beg to be loved like a coin!
oh how i strive to slit the throat of a laughing troglodyte to let the sun shine
into the purpose of an idiot.
i consume what disbelieves the power of my weaknesses and secure a place in Valhalla
full of plush toys for Gypsies and waifs of every sadness
doing nothing but getting hit… by dead-end jobs
in the mouth of profound madness…
on this side of happy….
which incidentally, is the dark side of smiling
out of fear like an ape
with a word for a
man... without a god.
Canto I

The Dream is The Dreamer. I Intuit by strife and yards of Sleep.
I know the very secrets that I keep… and keep them coming, from underneath.
I swerve where the world is flat and the stars, less cheap.
All are Suns to plunder for the Heavens that are jealous of the Hells we seek.
Without our barbs, we are wires that electrons elect to flee.
So the light we gather is nothing more than the lies we speak.
Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow… is only half as deep.
I tread where the Angels have false hopes
and conquer everything.

Canto II

Somewhere in my Soul is the last gasp I’ve been keeping
for the curtain fall of a dull day, perched on a steeple wilting.
My Church, Flesh, and Blood like any book you’re reading.
I assemble my disassembly with all the fire in my teeth careening.
Top bad for the Lost Ones. The way they trouble the void with wishing.
I summon the marvelous crux of a Fiction I am sincerely believing.
And make it so.

So beautiful… I’m still Alive.
If Wednesday had a boyfriend they would rendezvous on Monday.
They would eat fried rice and stroll in the rain. Without umbrellas.
Monday would be horrified. But Simply Horrified.
Tuesday spreads a rumor and I still can’t find my cellphone.

In a sea of screens,
there is only one blindness
to see with.
so cherry blossoms
are no longer meaningless -
On Wednesday or until
they Break-Up.

and Friday gets all that Rebound Action.
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