Nought The Frame, and Jolly The Stacks

the white carcass hides
in the roots
and the weight of the stone
gives it constant song
as its contemporary miners within
produce the gas to hale
its flute sails

and the blue sun
is gathered
with a glove
its purring tendrils
escape as it's plucked
to make new suns
and it all seems
so electric
in the buzz

light slithers
through the wild
projection manifold

giving it semblance
amblance
humble
and cough

it dissembles
remains
and beckons

and the stack of red sheets
makes a smoke of framings
which in turn ionize
to make a yellow sheet

and the whole thing
was constructed like a joke
but the laughter has long
subsided

and now the "like"
becomes ever more mysterious
and that mystery is
ever renewed

though black vacuum
as we all know well
frames the whole