Cat Clyde burns the reeds of wildfowl passages

the sore rally space beats with its heart in the hands of seismic doctors
nodding off to sleep without that shown heart-space, trailing eyes
where family is long in the constant subconscious easterlyways
donning a spell of tragic and the brightest gift of them all, fini
like a spoiled, rattled, dramatized allocation of doves and the right Earth
try to continue the rhythm without his hand, cool wind reaches will
towers on the gifted saints like all the bridged differences standing still