X. Trappings
Toward cardamon's ebon coolness
as if getting stiffed on approach to beacons,
night's blueprint for daydream's mountains
questing for flow, nimmed by ashen hue.
In the cone of agitation Agincourt.
Walking the plank of the tongue to the tip of
its spittle. I am fond of palm fronds.
Can't get over the fact that the head is the neck's
sneeze. I watch over this isotope, if it is
not mine. Ego scribbler. Script the scrute
in inscrutable. Passenger encore.
Waver of knowing and perceiving. The squaring
of tiptoes. An intervention which does not inter
invention but enters into it through the vents.
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