a bottomless cup
an hour with wings
and the rest of the day buried
fire surfing on fire
rods of gold bent low by the river
curtains of glass
reacting to a dream of speech
tongues and their drum of the infinite
echoes framed by new flesh
lines of energetic penetration
writing from beneath the soil
a knife's blade and its curse of neon
bars preserving an imprisoned soul
the clench of blood that never answers bone
time and its peak outside eternity
the rages of a sucking vault
links of the milk train lagging
springing into notes of their own
above the sacred cloud.
No comments:
Post a Comment