genuflection before ultrarumpus
genuflection before ultrarumpus
trivial search for lyrics,
“it’s world war three”-
swearing battle mimics
and -“the black man is free.”
there is no dusk to be
and no dawn that was,
there is no ‘w’ in the language
only now and the grass.
sorrow matters...
they’re murmuring
“swipe to the left”,
another life for the taking
greatness comes in short corpus.
swipe to the left,
the east was born west.
follow the equator,
beckoning ultrarumpus
sorrow matters...
add that to your personal dictionary,
lifted famous letter with neologisms.
a pound for politics,
a man with no country,
a leash cummings had on the laureate
that very few remember;
or even care to
with the devil in the details,
an idiom of real special property
caught in doubleness.
pores imbibe, delight in giddy contradictions,
nature must be overcome!
all life is linked in the flow of matter,
changing patterns seething
mud between toes,
branches run with veins,
rivers ocean of blood in the oldest software
casting biochemical tape
in algorithmic origin of life
upon oxbow nape.
rotate the rete
to your mark of beauty
caught with an astrolabe
of developing shades
launched across a strong back,
align it to the brown star
forever beside dark moss secrets,
a celestial chart that guides our way
to beauty where you now dwell.
all must seek passageway through the rete,
hell through marrow and cell.
empty greetings
from an oyster green bryophyte
landscaped on the planisphere.
peer through omniscient eye of salts
shake the dividing lines,
periscope down perfection
blued between faults.
when you left you took my eyes,
now how will i cry?
lost in the great sins of nations,
images of metadata,
myths in statistics,
even a pulitzer can disappear off the internet.
lost sorrow found in gauzy anodyne experience,
humanities evil reaper came for their leader.
on broken waves white foam slips,
glistening emerald colonies fade
cast out on sweet uplifted lips
just to die on the vine,
we live without knowing, in cruelty
except for the music
and this muse can be caustic.
rolling on the sand,
please find those lyrics.
sorrow matters...
walking in the light
at ease in the shadow,
our identity survives floating
in silks of moral character.
forget the memory... it is kinetic sculpture.
form collapses, shadows pull down,
silk threads burn melting on canvas,
sorrow matters...
true self is only morality!
defining character,
locks of hair in a silver porphyry
a disambiguation drips of mercury.
our kiss of intense pulse,
all that can be saved!
smooth and velvety
as the backs of bees,
the responsibility of love
equals the grief.
monarchs feast on a diet of time,
drip waters from milkweed
turning dark honey from the sun,
bees murmur
exiled from the hive.
snap! snap! the beats grow weak,
transmuting the sun.
walk through the mountain door
from taurus to the black sea,
runfire scatters past chimneys
climbing from the floor
before frost’s white face,
lustrous but sunless,
hears the signal horns
beckoning ultrarumpus.
cranium domes hang on
conceptual threads,
swaying in the noosphere of deliverance.
red silks
blow on invisible winds,
bees forget their dance
lost in the trees,
breathable droplets
blow mind from mineral deposits,
dark honey of social anxiety
destroys us,
waiting in the night
for moral anxiety to improves us.
before the bees die off
and bugs spin on their backs,
fall into the mine.
where rumors swirl and seasons scoff.
all who go do not return
but you must understand death never was.
you are too much mine... and flesh of me!
in the peering brain old ghosts seal the pain,
a chin gesture approves
gasps this breath of gain
and dwells within your charity.
setting in the west,
flowers vanish
a half unwelcomed guest
in this new winter of sunset.
ashen grey or gray,
controls the paralysis
lucid does not come cheap,
forgetting the day.
reading a strangeness in my mind,
calmed with a drink of boza,
oh, sweet surrender!
solitude!
now grab the hand of fate,
search for soul and a city.
the bees got busy
changing the dance,
the flowers in the cave,
everything, honeycombed.
subtle, not always what it seems,
sorrow matters... pulling matter from dreams.
rumbles, flyovers, far off
dark acoustic shadowing,
report supersonic skyquake.
took in the atmosphere, the tree indicates catena
of impenetrability
headless gods
on mount nemrut. now they no longer shake hands,
their feasts were turned into mourning,
mirth into lamentation.
statues sing and hiss, deeply
engraved whistle on brass compass
flows in the direction of time
to the queen of the mountain.
beckoning ultrarumpus!
no why, just here! know why?
here to love thy neighbor!
here to report no claim, ethical or otherwise.
don’t pull it to warm bosom,
kick it down the bloodstream
bring it to the knee,
but the marble is no longer cold
so all you get is a cursory genuflection
before this altar of premises. add a conclusion,
consider it an argument,
question the logic
beckoning ultrarumpus!
terrorized air traveler, take off your shoes
in a mandatory genuflection,
before sacredly being flung skyward
across time zones.
time to think of love, laughter, and sorrow.
in a turkish word huzun,
oh, the melancholy when you finish a good book.
horseshoes are in the air,
reality is reality one can’t resist
let things flow
swipe to the left,
captured under right thumb
palms pressed together in prayer.
two stars kiss,
divide like cells.
one planet eats rock,
and the seed vault returns seed
for a new season in the land of war.
man really must colonize quick
space between lines,
where musk ruminates
turns red quick.
forget the lyric,
who wrote that song?
man, oh man, the complex!
butterflies in my stomach,
get down on your knees,
genuflection before ultrarumpus!
