Punto gusto
telepaths, sweet and mutant 
with freedoms prejudice. 

Arrested glows
rough and ready flows
mongering for free throws.

What falls in love
with being in love.

Tarries with your order. 
Meet me at the border.

Yes, no -- Sun, wan 
and the guessing game show.

How inclements spike 
with mysterious intelligence
the headiness of a rose

does disquiet to a nose.
Defending elements 
my holy sin

for a crack in tow
at your holy tin

that buffets and buffers
my scatter, my skin.

Impassionate rows
go high, delve low

gather like straw
buckles and beams

rakes the ardor
rants with its demons.

To contend that love
all full 
of its silly seasons

nets for tumult to allay 
(in an adoring way)
the outworkings of reason.

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