Arising from the depths –
ascending in the rhythms
of their own repeating breaths –
quiet paroxysms
of another needy thirst
in your enrapt imagination –
yearning to be first
again in the relation
you create to dream the world.
Something to distract –
keep the mind unfurled –
until another mirror’s cracked
to let in rude varieties of light –
whose bright collective mission renders
color into bits, with its audacious bite
of mixed perturbing genders
bending to attain a unity
outrageously embracing its division:
joining with impunity
to make its blunt revision.
Dreams, however non grata,
must pull another plum – zing
another zing: they gotta,
after all, do something.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment