An Atlas on a String of Steel Erect

an atlas on a string of steel erect

flees garden cruise for aftermath of perfect symmetry.

from a hand of snakes to a melting mood unseen.

a charm of coiled blunt-linen red

awash with all but heaven in a glass.

no perfect idol this to the hanging foot

dancing two-abreast

while the poppies glide as high each hanging man;

stuck inside the mouth of swollen pain

each word awash with the buggered row of rocks

more upright now I bend as brothers do,

beyond all things more granular than him.

unmasked by love all living things

reflecting sun more passionate than flame

no vision yet has lived my longest day.

more pessimist than optimist

in opera spheres bohemian unwrapped

staccato raw in hives of sleeping gods

all giving things that rise from Durdle Door

each night above the arch my cold recluse.

you have found me place of peace in a squatters jaw

to quarrel open-hearted with a throbbing telegram

sent to one more beautiful than stone.

sleeping mute in quarantine divine

to dream my art a sculptured suicide;