Spiral towards crush depth
from the heavenly cage of no convection,
lulled by rusted cogs' soundtrack.
The echoes of stones I threw into the eyewalls
strayed on drumhead fossils,
deaf end streetlights spoke through blister apertures
and a glint waltzed in infrared,
tracing a gradient ascent on freezer rainslopes
from the caverns of tungsten stars.
Photosynthetic folk, I'd clear your molds with blades of shade
to reveal the shining amber beneath fallen leaves,
hidden in the asphalt of roads that lead below.
Monstrous reflection ingrained I wish to excise,
so grant me a beacon scalpel to collapse the wall
between foundations and utopian recipes of the dividing word.
I appropriate the inverted sea to sail upon
to timeless finisterres of combustion momentum
and heartblood blossoms no thieving hand can reach.
Beyond mountain shields and screaming air, one day
gravity will be but a memory.
i like the phrasing 'photosynthetic folk'
ReplyDeletei picture people with potted plants for heads, i'm not sure why. but they seem nice and we shake leafy hands say hi.
That's hilarious & sweet, hadn't pictured it that way, so now I feel kinda bad for them, like a drunken hoodlum wearing big muddled boots walking all over a lawn..
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