Looking For Things To Do With the 59.

I give up on the 59, finally,
but:

40,000 of the prisms
were aligned within the
metallic setting cages
of the waterfall, refined and
rotated ~ the immense lotus
cone of illumination forced
among their surfaces
to provide ~ the star
of the evening in the
draft of the final walk
up ~over the ridge to view
the valley of unending
promise, there ~among
the various, and the various
among us, the dividing
of the word ~could appear
as a blood red stork
bi-sected by a thin infinite
planar ~crystal, a hollow
diamond in which the liquid
twoard, ~meant the
liquad qua fward:

[object]

the single small bulb
in its chin ~passed through
a single indeterminate scree
~slabs act kinetic staircase
to infumigate parslex, ~its
firehouse pole comma ~the
cookie launch, buckramed
in her square-dancing
tender

these violet throw-rugs
smell of fresh lavender
~as we come in off the trail
in our funny curly boots

YY

and our ~big perrukes
of squirming bells

o igloo (on plant microscopy)
of transparent banana pudding,
an enlarged pollen or ship
can replace the abdomen
of a cat whose wide
murine grin levels
taking with murklins, ~the

59 close-country polyps
tunnel yet upon
the ~viscous dentrails
of the eye
the lob of coal
just now ~settling out

of the hail of arrows
in the reign of ~eros,
no sentiment, but
where its turning
sorrows.