Pans and flutes and pipes
Assuaging thought's most festooned mores,
Moons away in triangulations
Permutations of motion impossible
By the owl's eyesight and her hunger,
Insatiety, the vast grasp of scaled fish.

A ride from wave to wave

In this much greater universe because.

How telling might torment hell
To be seen with half it's moving fire burnt

Towards clippings of moons--
Boys and girls, and plants and cocoons.

Where we dwell, the lower spaces,
The mazes of contracted human imagination;

Here we flow so no Old Sky
Can glow Unhaunted by

It's merely your reflection
It's simply a play of light ... a symphony, right?

Dim simplicity in my black eyes,
The stars punched out from everything.

Spiders crawl the ruined world
There are things I have to learn accepting of.

Spiders web around my eyes
Perhaps the world is more than this?

I have to maintain this fist
Hovering amidst clashing emptiness.
From the smallest part
Down to the amethyst heart
Containing this light.

Where the red-eyed bingeful day fell over
The hurdle of the night,

Where the plastic shrouding this Same Scene
Makes ghosts of what isn't real.

Doesn't matter that the camera caught it;
Doesn't matter that we're gone from each other.
Does it matter that I'm scorned

I am made into something without form,
Does it matter I am like the shutter --

Cannot feel to understand 'why',
Haunted by this poignancy nonetheless.
Have to make the problem worse
And see the fear in both our eyes
Will we survive will we pray to?

Have to grovel in the thirsty mess
Susceptible to what's next--
Apersonal trash, where I always fall
Down but I'm not caught.
Meaning that you'd catch
Me now? Loyal to surrender
My body to your fingers.

The stars in the sky are a mess
Is the puddle on the floor anything less
The eels in my eyes cannot see
They are blind but still can Zap!--

How everything pours out of you---

The yellow straight line jutting through
The blinds which are blinding you --

But showing me. Perhaps i am the Black God--

I am everything that is Hated,
I am the fear on the trembling lip,

And what succours Self within, so that by desire
Forging from the blackness something
Impossibly unlikely, as in opposite color,
But more of quality of open door, --
Threshold where the floor might just drop
In drips of the blackest ink.

And then they'd fall to eyes below watching
The sea pour blue out of me. And my eyes

Maybe wouldn't-- would try to understand.
I still know that I have my peace to settle
Beneath these blankets of sunlight
Billowing over the treetops
Like waves from the sea that got lost.
The bluest things I ever saw.