marshian roombow of upanishat

a religious poem for the insane

trephora, who comforts me even in death, brought me to the valley of eyes in the maturing days, when hope for love and my species was yet based on the quicksand of reason and not – as it has become – on the terra firma of dream

this valley, full of eyes. i saw a great many eyes on the floor of the valley, eyes that were very closed. and i was prompted to speak and i spoke and the eyes rose from the floor of the valley and began orbiting around one another like regulated flies

dream, a love undoing history’s doings on ringing rungs around rounds of absent absinthe in briny barns to rival evil valor out of saline sorts without much mulch or much of any lunch or hunch that would undo our dreams

as it has become. there’s a hole in my spirit, dear liza, dear liza. quicksand or dream, either-or or those other things. when i was young and breezy like a flock of ferns and didn’t weep like now but differently love and death danced happily, i counted stars

trephora, who knew grey poems of the desert, involuted sestinas of sand, entered the shadow palace of my forgettings and led me to the valley of eyes, those factories of clocks and hypnopomp, black pits of selfhood pocking white seas of uncountable desire

this valley, bittersweet vision. i spoke and eyes rose from the floor orbiting like failures and i said, show me the time you were fleshed and saw with the suffering of flesh, and now what are you without your limbs and awkwardness?

dream, dear diatribe and dearer delirium circumnavigating circumstances circumspectly with plums palliative and pugnacious dumped by mammogram mommies on psilocybin cities on dearest dufflet desserts dearest dearests dreams

as it has become. the hole, quite holy wholly quiet all you need is holes beam me up blotty to a past i never knew, in chains or singing sea or saying games or nothing wipe me down with the isopropanol of pronominal questions, eye discount counts

trephora, who desired eyes more than love, who equating eyes with love – what the cost of denying this equation? disturbing me in valleys of viscera – did not neglect to climb the ladders of my garrets if only to draw me down as well water a leaky bucket

this valley, petrichor of tears. we have wept for our absent bodies, those limbs of pain. and i found myself in clouds of eyes, electric and flashing webbed like lightning and full of forms not yet seen in the viridities of human passage

dream, perusaling grandiloquences grunting peruvian plants like lactating tongue doctors on time stations stationed in emitting mighty moontimes oh egg! bless my lesions lesson me in learnings scattings walkings dreams

as it has become. none of this has resonated i tell my children on footstools of scalped gods ears as waxed as centuries eyes as brief as rain none of this you dogs history has a chance to be not what it will be and this beloveds is love no rather, rain

trephora, whom i love like butter up the ass and who is gone like red heifers speaks to me in those stagings of night of eyes so sunken and black into voids of antiflesh none who would see them would ever see

this valley, coital desert. we have become ourselves. we are perfect like artichokes. we see ourselves like eggs over hard on easy beds. and i too am an eye and have lost my body in the singing sea of flesh and who would not rejoice, this progress of eyes

dream, chanting chaises or smoked chanteuses channeled in church séances through flowing fuliginous filibusters to lofts so lofty clouds cluster chthonic of rice and ken and oinking threepence in scented skies or dreams

as it has become. i see sums of darkness like voices in rivers. where has whiteness gone? we are not electric like rain or numbers, you have misunderstood. gaze or glance with us at evolution and do not say we have (or been) counted much, 

we who neither know nor see

trephora dreams in this valley as it

has become with neither eyes nor petro

logy but floors of waiting of cars that

look like bubble gum balls, and i dream too

of similarities and talking cheese

those random forgivings these hopes of gram

mars of hopes