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






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