A Perfusion of Urn

Raise 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.

A rise of flies
troubled tangled

reek of
pathways to love.

Where beauty brings
uneasy things

its constant companion

something never immune
from its wandering
in the ruins

yearning overturning
cart for coal,
my Grecian windflower

in a perfusion of urn,
mothers of invention,
the eternal return.

Views: 89


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.