In Secret Off the Grid

I can't believe what something’s done!

.

Objects correlate – words are flesh – freshly

framed in disinhibitedly-hued voluminous

exuberance – all in sudden familiarity, as if

.

constituents of a centrality had just been sieved

like gold bits out of rapids, inviting disparately

faceted anomalies of bling to spin around

.

the coalescing orb, ribbon it like Saturn’s rings.

Some unspeakability now combs and patterns

this into the singing thing a lucent poem brings

.

you home to. I daily step away from it, entirely

to come back to exult in the results of what

I’ve had now to accept is a reality: from which

.

apparently ensues exactly the decor I never knew

I’d yearned for on a kitchen table, hallway wall,

bedroom bookcase, bathroom shelf. My New York

City magic place provides the only space I've ever

comprehended comprehensively: who stumbled

on this wealth, this pelf, this unsuspected 

evidence, this perfect proof and exercise of self?

Cacophony excised, disharmony relieved,

impossibility achieved, in secret off the grid.

.

Ego in Handelian accord with Id.

.