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I.

The sky and her epileptic frenzies,
Seemed as beautiful as melted alkaline
Raining into archaic canyons,

Where metallic whimsies form into stigmas of origami,
Alive and enraptured,
As a broadened pupil inhales to awe at it;

To fulminate, as though pregnant,
Where all that is sought are skeletal fragments,
Fingers churned by an aluminum windmill,
Where constellations are pasted, forming a hand,
Of light, sprawled
To grip the eye,
And drink the sun, erect and supple:
The epitome of the eye cannot be weaned
From the breast of observation.

II.

Warm milk seething
across the indigo blankets of a jungle,
Where we lay hidden like insects abroad,

Pearl-like cocoons scattered across adolescent skies,
Where the seasons change by the wing of the butterflies,

Or the serenity mastered by the humble mantis,
Upon drowning into secreted teals of Atlantis,

Or the needy and wanton likes of the leech,
Where the sun orgasms into a silent breach.

Yet enslaved and tedious became the bee,
Where stars were pressed, and morning became
Me.


III.

To bask in the psychedelic iris of a storm,
Like a vivacious philistine welding braids of cells
Into sequence; rushing into the arteries of the Caribbean.
Arms flexing to cradle electrified roofs,
Of sapphire cathedrals, mounting-
Swelling into a rhapsody of hellish chimes,
Bellowing! Paralyzing the eyes, clutching their hearts,
That for centuries of recycled skins and bones,
Cannot understand the residue of time,
Dangling on the crowned brilliance of the mind,
When dawn sprayed merciful perfumes on the
Dandelion--

IV.

A spectral dystrophy that only moves by the will
Of a breeze,
Celebrating in the jamborees of the majestic aurora,
Sweet tempered and crystallized,
For the eyelids,
To kiss and wander in the chambers of a
Fruit.
Oranges peeled as my lips marvel,
Blazing with passion, I become the scapple,
Cupping the ocean in my hands,
And gliding it across the sun,
At the potter's wheel.

V.

Breathing a bottled message, I wanted to,
Free the sparrow inside of my ribs,
And flutter in the celestial currents where,
The angels shroud the sky with feathered carpets,
And ballads are written in between the looms,
A phantasm captivates my eyes to search,
For a face, a hope, behind the
Mask.

Trails of musk resurrects my soul,
To become green of cloves, sufficed by the rain,
Of a thousand horsemen rejoicing their wives,
And the children became the grass, the flowers,
The Tree--

VI.

Crawling the sky's apron like a spider, reaching,
Fervently thanking their mother for the love,
That sets in their eyes as a honey-dipped moon,
Saffron lips shattered to touch all the faces,
Of the creatures and become a mirrored tomorrow.

And their father never failed,
To be the light for his seedlings to walk upon,
Wrapping them in sheets of ripening yellows,
I grow,
In the harbor of
The Lunar Eclipse.