On that finger, there is a sapphire ring. The curious curl
of the left side of a smile, an eye that brings the night
to a boil. Somewhere, out the window, a weathervane is spinning
like a whirling dervish,
pointing God to the beginnings of civilization itself.
In the yellow maroon blueness of that extraordinary point,
the human face becomes unbalanced, a cheek bone twitching in the
hologram. A strange bird -- trapped between two mirrors,
purchases a crumb of bread from across the voidlike shopping mall.
The audience does not realize it is an audience.
A pearl of insanity trips down the escalator, it's membranes
defined by human wisdom and the communication skills of thunder and rain,
the same language that arrives
at twilight when the Temples fall asleep and the lion's eye scans the horizon
to remember something it has not yet eaten,
sleeping in the grass like an unwritten word.
The darkness of time, they bring to the surface of the human eye
is a circus containing endless Mimes.
The Bottle floats in the sephiroth, that unfinished conception
full of endless variety of verbs and adjectives, myriad nouns
and the enchantment that is the enchantment of
uncertainty, which cannot remain uncertain in the symbolic overtures,
of the Jewels, the scintillations of eviscera.
In the ear, there is a volcanic flood, a capillary of constellations,
the broccoli that reminds the human eye of the Oak tree suspended in the Paint
whose footsteps in the Vatican still can be heard
when the Sistine Chapel is balancing it's theories
in the light of the setting Roman Sun.