Nineteenth Day
Cheryl, the known light bent our beaming chips floating soaked
In aridity unassigned brushed outer arm
Caves grow stumbled as atmosphere we go elbows
Hooked sometimes not in the dark hall slow
Unphrased by not even rain pearling clouds washed
Across the pang of atlases wrapped a tightly closed plant
We reach for faintly pebbled to steady
No walls no city yawing under the waves
Cheryl, to touch yellowed in bundles of hard caked light birth
By alkaline mine your shoulders are my hand
And even your shoulders are chairs in seven circles
Arranged in the cardinal directions of warehouses of laws
Cheryl, spooling in a narrower circuit lip folded
For a sense of returning lilied by doubt would
The sun the wholly perceived sun the striations
Cheek pinned to the firmament uneternal
Sigil our unhurried service our push and steady long
Hall frame bull thistle’s milk turning
In the horns it dearly gathers
Cheryl, all is one in hell and hell is one fragile weather
Cheryl, this is a poem about Utopia
Tossing a rotten head back and forth in the technology
Until we are rivulets washing the stones
Of this valley in flickering decades
