Time wraps around the skull
and its antipathies.
Plumes of every favorite color
washing away the ash
that follows the fire of blindness,
settling on stumps and melted gristle
disturbed by clitoral beginning shoots,
nudges of a fresh reality
from under the face of earth.

Water in a tube of force
making its voice known
to a dirtless labyrinth
space with its unseen neighborhoods
tossed and wheeling around
the slick gear of earphones
halting the count
releasing the grimy orchestra.