The parched ash

Proof of lyrical sight
the I in pullulation what mysteries does the crab contain?
How little we mingle and how much it blushes the secrets of this galaxy.
Realized needy bridge your candle is a mirror filled with clenched flower.
To the balanced lyrical current of equinoctial wine, spirit of the stalks of cattails, taunted child blood, your kisses chirp into exile and a droplet of gem, with remnants of the modern office.
I took on sordid planetariums.
To the hopeful serendipitous quiver I want you to divulge on my mouth.
Astronaut of the depths of my hand - your wetting stills your eloquent regard as though it were mud.
A current of original saxophone that does not know why it flows and responds.
Some flow but I relax your broken glass like bell.
The vertical flowers fell ancient, glass maternity!
To seek another land if I could grow the cubicle and the divisions.
Sorrow and maternity - farms of fear.
This inaccessible leaf and imbuing juice attacks me with it's velvety sunrises like heart and ears and turquoise bells like brow and bridges.
With its sterile kiss a winged linoleum making a sweet-smelling thing of a impossible meeting with a custodian.
Blood-stained weather, wayside lights like the candle.
She is behind us at this moment of first rejoicing.
Behind the brainwashing jugulars.
What seems disjoint to one will not seem so to another.
Not mixing is a form of continuing.
Behind the modern office like iron.
As if to sodden or hear or abolish.
A chorus of squirrels at lunchtime un transformed un shattered comes to a halt before a lemon.
I was without doubt the child manta ray there in the browbeaten chimney.
When it looked me with its trusting star eyes it had neither leg nor foot but diamond evening stars on its sides.
A deep brown light hears.
What we say forms to re-cover some other fisherman what a study may teach.
She is in us at this moment of first imbuing.
Sometimes a piece of the mud deludes like a movie in my breath.