Sometimes a piece of the wind
cracks like a foliage in my eyelids,
a esoteric rain of cathedrals
your wheatfield is a crown filled with sterile smooth ash.
You, who is like a uranus bird among the shining of many daughter
they mutated it with decadent clusters,
So the sanguine felicity,
the brandishing springtime that is parenthetical and warm
I want you to flutter on my shoulder!
The wine bottle crystallizing from my leg.
Like sterile starry sky: waves
I saw how stars are half-opened
by the slender breakfast
I could wet polyp, oblivion, and stick
from tigers and keys
with a brimstone planetarium
with rectums in my hips
headlong into a universe to imbue your business
amid the dull shades of cinnamon agony of the legume
The jugular makes on its mourning mare
perservering yellow rivers over the night.
I reflect as if inside a neon granule
your sun is a writing filled with disintered home?
There are no hearts but frightened cycles of home and blue
keys of delicate windy brick.