Summer trills the top
where the world form crosses
its spin by oblivion's welling
inkum
creamed daylight
to the beckoning face
o weary thorn
whose screeching whip
the white antenna noisomes
in the pit
young skin so tenderly milked
its thistle path
the brine of wine and tears
come closer
sacred rome
for one eye dangles
from the loam
the sky
and the author
interearthed
nothing homely
but homely
side shelf its pure radiance
the klaxon matheme arcs
the unknown substance
hyle to the green grass
hyle to the wind mowing formlessness
some synder sly to the roof string getaway
smoke supple spirit
of the mystery constant
wystic foo marl
qwerty
poiu
