Raise the high finger 
wave, make waves 

let my pie fly
consecrate the sky.

Where plusses 
rift deuces, 

battle mortal cruces,
crave for truces.

Buffer and squeeze 
the holy breeze

beating 
the bounds.

Arises, 
and flies 

troubled tangled
undisguised, 

speaking of
pathways to love. 

But where beauty brings
uneasy things, 

contrarity 
is a constant companion 

something never immune 
from wandering off, 

in a cadence of ruins 
yearning overturning 

cart 
for coal, 

my Grecian windflower
in a perfusion of urn -

Mother of invention,
and the eternal return.

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