Circling the ceiling with a red crayon.
Stirring the cereal considering
sealing the circle. Sliding further away.
Partial coats and wicked forsaken sacred whispered buttoned up secrets.
The open palmed oracle of seething.
Broken shoed and token.
For shadowed and cloaked in opium.
Deluded and soaked in narcissism.
Drenched and famished in trauma.
Tossed and marbled in hypnotic karma.
If I thought about it there’d be no believing in that
kind of magic.
If I dreamt about it, there’d be no believing in this reality.
If I talked about it there’d be no denying its gruesome grinding.
Got a sound booth in the receiving page. A message in a gray box.
It was a diagram.
It echoed decluttering the silence in the old wood.
It frosted the lining in the soft tube.
It felt the motion of the glowing from the galactic lamplight
It summoned the fuming of the fire sky.
It rescued the notebook of the the lost recipe. Missing a page.
This won’t go on forever.
Sunken beet forest.
The wind below the wheat beneath the street beneath my feet
won’t offer the code to the angel of secrets.
It won’t blow the air from the angel of silent breathing or strike a match to the smoke from ash piles.
It will watch trance protected connections to the undetected through a wintery lens.
Paper offerings sacrificed in peppery cremation drifting even further away.
Dumbstruck sun drenched snap in a stone bowl.
Sentence noodle throttle back to a rest.
Stop ascent at the steep height.
Quarter tones bend to the drop light.
Blood stained telephone ringing.
It winds to zero in elastic glass capillary synapse.
Settled and befuddled moments counting three or four collapses to forgotten starry skies.
It clicks and snaps like a shutter.
It confounds like a riddle.
It becomes what it has lost.
It’s ambient lingering ring has five to the one.
Centrifugal calendar crippled fire to the four.
In descent through counter balance, rains premonition of this finger and that consenter.
This subito forte to begin and become That finale of seem.
