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May 31, 2017 | | Comments 0

Deep Inside

May 31, 2017

Deep inside, it may be conjured by a residing reverberation
from an unfortunate event, a moment of awe in-between the
setting of cement and the drying of butterfly wings, it may be
around the edges of a death-mask, when Life shimmers and
casts seeds towards the stillness of what was and wasn’t, it
may be inside the mouths of sleeping Siberian tiger-kittens,
knitted inside the clothing of a mafia boss on death-row or
held fast in the bleeding hands of a fisherman’s broken half-
paddle, exhausted and raging against the current’s memories
inside ice and snow, avalanche-fairies dancing done and owls
that hold fast to its tailcoat and ball-gown,

No matter the circumstance, it’s felt and Understanding bows
its brain at its matter-less temple set upon a pyramid of suns,
moons and daydreaming hippopotamuses, muses and shear
pixilation undulating inside Uniformity’s and Chaos’s sweat
laden kiss, hands all over, nothing but hands on hands on hands
on hands… Cotton colored castles touching the Void’s elbows
and the warm mantle of the Unmanifest’s winter cabin
bellowing, crystalline polar bears being stroked by hematite
children born of volcano and geodesic sexualities,

Quiet: master-less, king and queen-less, no crown, no face,
no life, nor story,
Permission granted to talk all you want,
Permission granted to tear asunder cliffs, monuments, the
new and the old, the dreams and the unread folded,

Inside this ferreting of Time’s ticking ongoing stands the
gearless clock, the lockless unlocked, the fashionless fashioner
of snowflake novelties, the ringless married, the religionless
church of no-thing, breathing out what’s breathed in,
lungless and hungerless, perfume of where roses get
theirs from, jealousless and enshrined with metallic
cocoons cracking open, winged planetary systems
spreading their legs, Rhino-gods and drums beating
slowly approaching the first dawn touched upon a brand
new astrological configuration, telescopes melting, glass
turning to diamond and gold to princess hair, money on
fire, coins to tiny sculptures of things never dreamed nor
for Dream’s eyes to roost upon, rivulets of satiation
beyond opposites, moss takes root and lichen scurries at
-340 mph…

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