we
sing your praise oh elegant queen of dreams and mansions or mantis fever to
live eternal to open skies where we caress in somber cries. our minds filled
with parrots our souls longing near hummingbirds to song so delicately or arise
as feathers upon a warm breeze. you are mother those tragic reasons if made
determined to love and cherish such wretches and scoundrels. our first
existence our burgundy arcs as souls fleeing or floating into feral jungles.
such social virginity or there by depression to have by war a scar for
tumbling. such eloquent pain such featured horizons as to picture in photograph
a sophisticated creature. but what of the author, those crazed gatherings, to
have been most dejected currents. as needing forgiveness but alienated from humanity
so under earth the gnomes were screaming. our confused rites our passages
through regions while a son confessed as most humiliated. such broken trust
where others are dazzled after such roaring candescence. by grave or sepulcher
by tomb or catacomb while mother carried with pride the Lord’s Fire. it must be
by selection while some are reprobate where others are gold and cadence or fury
and meadows. those bobcat eyes those tender palms but mother’s nails so filthy
or deteriorating. where others are cedar-pines or cryptic gazes to love mother
come death or deceit.
