Bearing the Temporal Abrupere Vein

you were dancing to disco marches
even the approaching cop laughed like a nuisance
we were driving to drone harmonies
I moved my hands in sung ramifications
you almost crashed into the turn
she sank it all, in multiple forming stapled temples
why was I asked for her not to be there
I was mistaken about the timing, so expected
stoning the saucers of milking persuasion
I could not hear the rented moons
seeing our future in our reflections
warm memories become sand hour sadness
moving to a navigated point, sharpening

where God would take my face
warn me of station harp managing
crossing the bark of temple greeting
carving a street laid on glass in the hour
hearing tempted against the bone of wit

never believe the face of God knows the bow
broken like a crossed familial forecast
she drowned the temples in March rails
here we sew over angels combusting
nowhere is it written, or condescending
that God will visit so open, so remorsed – so equated
the subconscious signature will offer a frank door
it is not transcendental grift, but in the smell of smoke and books
rivers on partaking nos domaines, clarifying
corners and aided linear merchant notes seeing endowed fragments of lattice