Slurred Vices, Each Central

Revolve: service is essential.

Lowering ourselves to duck out of the noose,
Learning to breathe the milk so as to sleep in the bottoms,
Burrowing in the sand with one hand toward to the sun
Through the surface,
Encircling all we have known and encountering
Novelty at every turn.

It burns, this reality.

But this is to Purify,
Purge the Eye.

Lift the hem of your garment as you pass
Over the stumblers.

If you brush against them they
Will crumple into disparate elements – all I meant was this:
If you can freeze fire, you remain unvarnished.

Take the milk into your lungs and into your blood,
Feed your blood back into the milk to serve the bride.

Wake into night and see the star passed overhead,
Know you have dreamed a scene.

Make up your cup hands
Paralyze them in place
Ghost elides
Like a guy trying to ride a dog.

He is not meant to bear the weight,
And neither are we.

The sky is heavy, heaving,
And we are leaving it behind, be kind
To the Earth, it is her lot to be carved up
And re-shook, cast in inhuman vessels which shatter from light
Passed through to them –
Advancing, throwing 3 to 4 faces to 3 or 4 guests.

Milled wind goes round but does not go quite through.
Each guest refers to the host as: “mice elf.”

From the Sun we receive
All that is worth receiving,
That much’s love.

Peace is as phantom, heat comes out of violence
And light from disharmony.

What is pursued?
What has not been attained.

Mirror plus mirror equals infinity,
Therefore holding hands to hand is fruitless.

I have peered at the darkness and seen it’s a curtain,
Not that kind that falls but that which pulls back,
Like bangs or a fringe, or “rivet(s) in a fan.”

The dimensions are not numbered, language can be bundled up
And stored in desk drawers.

Not all ravens are symbols but THAT one was.

To stand at a window and look out,
That’s what children do –
To stand at street windows staring inward’s adulthood.