an effigy of laughter.
through each stray yet unearthed as seldom is.
it would seem all time transparent
through a summer\'s day
where shows no more a logic
than the apple trees and hay;
our weather breathes no politics.
there are fourteen sticks pointing sideways
to the dark side of the sun.
I have shrunk the size of a teaspoon in a well
but still it swells,
this hell that sells itself where angels dwell;
yet again I smell the onoins of your heart.
we are dear but yet departed through the red meat and the clay.
but still it grows
the white horse flowing free-verse to the panic of a wave.
there are words and nothing else
where two worlds speak of prophecy and gloom
but still no room to roll the rocks
of Eden in her pregnancy with daffodils in bloom;
no climate change will satisfy this curse,
or satisfy the salsify with her cotton-buds and broom.
bride and groom
satanic verse\'s show their guns at noon.
there is a second eye
that tells us where we are.
we are seagull grey
but still our mountains move;
and it is true
our dearest friend
our Socrates has wed?