The unfathomable - released -
to non-exclusion -
The redeemable - foretold -
as arabesque -
So are the quandries you
inspire
with ineluctable longing,
fragment vision,
impossible retrievals
of downy lost snow.
Such is the kindness
you display
to cuckold stuck attitudes
send them away
A new breathing
meeting of two
to splash the ornamental
pyre with jewels
It's giving, not that hand
that reaches back
in wonder how the gift
can be received.
The poker-faced who lie
to stay on track
must disengage from
truths they can conceive
For attitudes lose altitudes
as soon as they are spun
yields run one way across
the staking plank, the righteous
ladder
ever wobbling as it falls
across the stars...
Is this the change?
Yes - so it appears -
the tears are of a morning
slow diminishing
in blights and blots of
cantilevered
finishing.
We've waited for varnish to
yellow
with more patience than you
could know,
The polyglot appendages are
warped
by time-machine fantasy
torques.
Attend well the alchemy
players,
the tight-fist illuminous
fares
like Chiron and his boat
to a rock band
from Chicago
—if you think that's
a coincidence
I've got unified fields
to peddle,
the gravity-free fields
of Florida,
the strawberry fields
gene meddled
and the horrid utopias
that turn the earth's blood
to smoke.
It's old, all that smoldering
control - you don't
have to buy it,
they came 'cos you asked them,
they wanted you to know
—messiah they worship,
colors aglow.
If you can't see sun
in the shadow
you'll not see your own
mirrored face.
If you debunk the world
in your pillow
You won't remember
the grace of the place,
So many short circuits
to so many dead ends!
Heaven is waiting
within this dimension.
Everything could be your friend!
Subtle glitter flies off
your fingers
gravity comes from your
heart.
All are in pewstools
awaiting your blessing
The miracle of your art.
You dove into darkness
to bow before demons
because you felt
nothing at first
and now that you know what it feels like to suffer
let it go
—you have permission—
to haul the world in
like flies on lines
like forks with tines
like gold from mines
like poets rhymes...
Tail-spinning, wind-spitting
dervish dynamo
to the center spin,
the circle is you.
When I'm finished, the blue sun
