shambolic amanuensis

the smell of rain happens... disturbing

soils, mixing plant oils

of pleasant petrichor. cityscapes fade

into oceans of hot tar steam,

beckoning an unbroken rainbow,

a dome over clandestine occupations

grounded, where two differences come together.

running down the clouds, lightning flashes.

waiting for the news...

did you see the sky through me? our power

flares an event wave of strong winds,

billow clouds roll across the mountains,

love pulls your essence through intricate chimes.

rubbed in histamines

in a fight with sulfite,  hell meets headache

and sparks brighten the room lonely with everyone,

although of course frankincense.

reality does not exist until you measure it!

look there goes another spiritual crisis,

such a common foible left in resin.

who called you here to this intimate reading?

the earth quakes,

clock bells forced off hour wait for resurrection.

while i blend my own wine to gather another experience,

hidden secret transcriptions

settle on a sense of place over custom perfumes.

why do they smell of you?

bellows inside another’s head,

shambolic amanuensis

smokes bees in the meade. yards of vines

twist to singularity. my ascended master,

under star pianos and those chimes,

plants an extreme personal story in the terroir.

a bizarre love, my savior!