When a fat man dreams
not merely slimmed down
using different plans
and fabrics that fit off the rack… 60 more words
Tags » Utterances
The catalpa pods dangle, hesitant paper laces in the hushed secrets of the Autumn winds … above and in sentry over the first blush cascades of promising rose hips, nourishment the summer fauns will savor come winter’s killing frost … slightness of the morning turning her palms in offering first testament … there uplifts a billowed lantern dance in unconcealed oneness urging the wood ducks to favor the openness of the lake’s center … thus, they ride on crystal carronades of split prism prayer parades … carnival red, gold, and green gleam … Soul drifts upon this thirst of suggestion, pagoda patter beneath cool bare feet, stone and moss married amongst calliopes with tender mints supplanted … silver bells kiss consternation pouring forth amicable intentions of reaching ignorance’s temple where rest no knowledge of ever knowing touch … the taste of mead and marigolds drunk with a dark silence met … I am your vital leech field, swamp to suckle mud fed seeds, thus, his milky and honey oleander greed.
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The precipice of summer lingers lying quietly to the definitions we cling to … ritual eggs brighten rows freshly tilled by plow shears we forged from the last glance our eyes held with the starving peregrines on the ledges of the city towers … their children are dried to hollow dusty holograms … the tapping of a heart’s chain slung carelessly to trip the rainbow’s remains for their want of nurturing spittle … rain too far a distant dust bowl dagger slit in lamb’s wool absorption to quench … we are vain, almost vulgar, in calling for a holy preservation of the child Self … the yoked sack membrane damp as the due we all crawl through eventually in suckling dread hours … the remainder of stains on duckling cliffs ruby~ing palms and knees … my toes turn in, Leo knows how it hurts, how the martin’s purple came to be … why can’t we take our hands off the joy stick of illusion long enough to know … giving up creation to create with each other … for whatever time we are afforded by the roadside ditches or in marble mansions … ambling, rambling, or scrambling for its living breath … is by design a worthy purpose … 6 more words