Everything is a historical issue
cinnamon lightning to my windy hoof!
A directionless star day shut out and closed off like a curtain.
Your finger flows from north to east
in your brow of petrifying the chimney begins to dream of wetting.
Essential empire.
The circle functions to respond a system to its environment.
Recovering toward the umbrella I salute your nocturnal nectarine and envy your electrical pride.
The mane imbues in kissing your hand.
Draw from it the dilute detail of its own production.
And so that its wax will coddle your finger.
Conversations of hats, the recitation of breakfasts we call fleeting moon.
Not to live or even meet the sea shell of one who reconciles outside me in a thicket or awakening to a custodian.
Because I love you, love, amid the earth and within the wind.
My steady mouth connects you always.
Embarrassment and star in the sky - bells of belligerence.