fast temple
When words amidst my brackish teardrops touch
The jazz musicians— suddenly— the tunes
Will start the buzzing of the earthly crush.
It didn't bring the end before, but moved
And softly bore the air— a quiet breeze.
Afar some hands divine are branching blues:
The skies, they hush, and flood the empty seas,
And mighty hands are clutching— all— they drain
Those organisms tortured, screaming— spills
That bloody essence, stirring purple rain
In early nights and early days, I cry,
I die and screech while under here I lay
And staying still like instruments, I sigh
—A sax—a dizzy moan— I'm breeding thirst
For living things as Heaven sends a light
To me, for me to sing with last allure
Apocalypse of mine that rests with hope,
As all is ending, dances still my Earth.
hexed osprey
wild mist