A gorged beaming lore cavorts awful in the love for insanity
Against the bridge of our first original sin,
To glance carelessly at the shape of her breast
And the slight motion in her delicate stride, approaching,
To wonder about her, lain down and full with love-worn eyes,
To prepare mama’s grand blessing in the fantastic body,
To play and sing coldly into the guided morning,
A space for listening, to cleanse the air with sacred voice,
An incensed feeling,
Touching on lost beauty within and under the strongly
pressed clothing
Worn like skin that drops sadly over her neck of virulent
sorrow
As a shapeless feature in the energy of her following,
The immediate environment, playing along,
Harmonizing and sung beyond shamanic Taoist heights
With a most unknowing imprint,
To play the chord of humanity
And shower leaf & brush with the dirt of the river’s own
word
Passing through a foreign box
Crafted with a tongue for sensuous musical fruition,
To meld in the sorrow and aftermath of prehistoric eyes
Dreaming around the enshrined doorway
Through our billions in pain,
The whistling tragedy,
A bombed out racialized distress in the humiliated city
Now boasting of a stress that saves and hordes banked heads
from all countries
As their masks fall away to reveal different invocations to
the Graecian-asp
Falling from the glory of antiquity into the English lap
On Massachusetts
Ave.
Cowering behind mathematical lords
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