Friday, September 9, 2011

Tribelous Lesion

Summer trills the top
where the world form crosses
its spin by oblivion's welling

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

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