harvested fabrics like falling Saponaria pines

harvested fabrics like falling Saponaria pines

tinged gjöd magnets like triads in dime supply mines
cordial as a hornet’s nest hanging from the testes of an elephant
fornical advocate alieved with the grief of counselors
stripped and partial stepped stoneways headed to the long-wind
there are straits that last a lifetime, there are straits that last a feast
but the thieves of Amsterdam know the blood of hormogone sheathes
bashed presence under to forestepping moon, elixirs withered stems strong

like frail and obstinate factories folding for sailor-smiths’s trails
neither here nor where sanctioned renderings of smiles go north
just the tail of a dove on a long journey from God’s heathered house
forever in the consummate tractor pulling laughing gas tool-making
nocturnal and engrossed in mass behavior, mistaking working mediums,
mistaking feminism for capitalist qualms on the brisked abyss of losing rails
here to seek out a familiarity on tailored swans destroying the alignment
the tattered structure of lost ponds in the neck of Mother-God’s loose chaparral
never leave a journey home for a drink of water, where camps go north inside to seethe
nor betray a loved one on a resting man’s journal, resting long-fiendish marching pathe to grieve