Thou hast done it now, so thinketh I of
thee.
Thou mak'st a bow and vow, in front of me,
to aim a chuckle, like a gun, in my
direction.
You love fomenting insurrection –
.
caressing floating bits of ambient geometry
to animate new stratagems of that psychometry
in which you are adept: feel up psyches
from inside
to see what you can get to fit to you so
you can ride
.
with it into that inner pyrotechnical
expanse
that wants you – waits to swallow your
first glance
at it: that sentient and voracious atmosphere:
think famished Santas jonesing to eat deer –
.
all their deer! – tonight! And then a tasty
stew
whose basis, they are praying, might at
last be you.
‘That’s it? A crock.’ Oh no: the shock,
my dear!
If you heard another word, you’d disappear.
.
.
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