Speak Not Its Name

Deathly struggle with emptiness and beauty creates passage — time assumes allumes devolves ascends ascends ascends — breaks

poem is just started. still under construction — check back in a week.

breaks apart

bends -/ kisses floor of shore

the flying fish de lac —

as door to redrum opens opens

things fall things fall apart — warnings were posted.

The eye the eye

to the third forth fifth thing sprung from rhythms, saturn’s rings

bad as glad. The inquest.

Queens of underwhirled stuck in halvsies — Hades abduction, Persophones corruption. Half in half out waiting for ghost.

And at hamlets post retains remains assigns pertains — watching for the undead  to mount again —

How body cranes in mudflow, explosions of darkness, crawls at rim — falls at crack — where sparks pummel against a tunnel of love and dance in chase of a holy blackness —

The migrant shallows defiant — grumble for aa tumble, grease my tree that wretched holy wrecking speak not its name, longing to be free.

At odds the sod a waking splendor of every little riddle in the middle, sleet desperating affliction — a rim bow of evil rainbow, hemicycle and chamber of something of nothing —

Be free defiant eye cant quit now its dying, its crying.

Daze and phase all right the maze. A slave at races for ports of call —

The dove that loves petting noses with the ponies of being as a movement toward truth — as if life is about to begin again — the cross to climb the limb it of rhyme is a projection of faith to wheel kneel heel by — flames again dickering up the clock, in gusts of adamantine lusts. 

Letting go — no holds bar. Sings for freedoms in bursts.

After  another rain of redly deadly flute and flame — sanity is bold resigned cursed .

The caw caw sinks into deciphering mathematical mismaking with genuine glee — dreaming in unforgettable forgeries — steal steal the evil economies —

The eye the. eye knows its a crime to sink and surface so low — crash and crow — reason reasons knows nothing– other than what goads free as the sea, from fellow travelers —

Of its beauty (at length) and indecisions /-

Penning tries to break down always a door, for  more —

That miracle of  escape — waves and graves of sudden anxious contempt —where spirals form the undead, blood blows in from under leisure, the pleasure trap — buried in visions — talking in tongues.

Fuck me if it always plumbs — depths of sums.

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