late in fateor mete

gloobs bugs suds
stone transcends a gut
and deuce the corneal
in which the banderole
to the tapestry in league
lengthens and lengthens
until labyrinths on vertical roller columns
like a film
through which no light may pass
and which shuffles the victims
to some end or makes them
begin again having to retrace their
longing to the origin of the looping
weaving there as the dancing floor
is sacred for the dancing there
is said to be of things that will never exist
and yet in that way they partake of existence too
it is a curious relic the thinking in this way
and the tethercord is hard to follow
where it bends swiftly round a corner
and down a hole only to rise again
to the sky inside
a secret shaft
a loose remainder
bought mostly before the trance
gloobs bugs and suds
until you meet the shaman of radiation
and taste its hot and spinning colors
across the grid of your enduring stamen
something heard completely for a moment
inside the round cornered cube
of rose colored cacopolyphemunemes
the blue and garbled dust
of worlding