to sanction old signs the master taps on dismal leavings, fortunes pricked with bogus reward
the bishop desires gypsy grains, planets, atoms, with dormant shrines to grow his private graces, skilful arts to spell out twisted liens on proven souls, until they finally survive their heaven senses, bought for causes, good weave, forgot, gone
so existence scores voices of instrument glory—a good flap limits values—wounds vote as sour lords to serve our doubt
until we believe that one word does good by rebuilding tiny citiesSome labour gives very temporal allusion to celestial account; makes its entrance unknown—between double suns—awakened in fragments of time withdrawn; only partaking of opaque concerns; until we begin to form words from marketed fresh fish, many armies of days orate popular god airs, until they begin to navigate words according to other place rolls a source, furry spirits of ideas outgrown fly on anything hope grows to allusion and their berries plod where starfish finger mystic brains • the ceramic bicycle still requires petrol to enter the catholic void; we nail orders backwards to talk after living wheels in fear
Sunday, 13 November 2016
Phoenix Quixote
Plates of quills and fruit that doubt the flight of green
Have called for authors from the castle joy to
Offer up these naked flames disguised as words
Enveloping a universe of laughter
Neither knight nor damson sighs can douse without
Intoxicating waters, energised by
Xanthus vines' and madder jewels' enchanted mouths
Questing beards and capacious smiles raise the day
Upon the devil of a shepherd's shoulders
Ill-defended windmills battle with the mind's
Xenogenetic fruit of wings unfolding
Orchestrated by the science of a muse
These salutations quest for ceremony
End with love in this refreshing xenium