The flower of life is forgetful,

her pain drives deeper and deeper

as action thrives, and

the sky is unappeased,

foundations quake

from the wet root

of maniacal buds,

the joker of hearts

cut to ribbons

in a jagged haze.

The bridge bent skyward

in a bleeding bow

lets forth its radiant streamers,

vines clap solid bells

on gaudy walls

that play with gravity,

pull and strengthen

the wrinkle of unlikely paths,

long states and paused continents

where my shell of hesitation

has gone to be cracked and scattered,

sun beams of a needful way

that pierce the wailing cloud

and any bloom deep is down.