this dark of deadly nightshade
nesting in the crevice of aloof.
no partisan in crowds own distant means
belligerent and flawless
crawling through the tunnel of a dare
where water sits and bleats a plaintiff cry.
an energy of change
bouncing with the feathers of a ball
to hells own flowers
hanging with the symptoms of a plague.
to the talking wounds of Samson in a rage
how few beyond the cyclone second guess
who's mountain do we breathe
for air as pure as silk
as white as Zodiac
as pale as milk?
picking through the sinews of a star
to somewhere far beyond
the twelve disciple bells forbidden sleep;
rising with the dead
each fourteenth day of June
hauling mirrors taller than the eyes
that walk upon the crystals of a spoon;