Metamorphosis (Pink)
In le neige of all that falls between us not yet forgotten
an ache refuses to catch on Time and thousands of cars turn
despairing of their faith in the pattern
as if in unpiloted practice
ring the mug with your pen
as if in practice
pink!
I will call an angel whose name I do not know
to circle eternity and bring that fragrant
circumference back
pink!
and in their dark hands practice becomes ritual, the pen’s sharp
bell deepens in the mind . mirrors break as the cross’
blade is driven in to the root
pink!
to the fertile break of mind beyond . the fragrant
window opens from the call a speech formed by speech
laryngeal seed that is the plant we rawr
pink!
but who says angels know their own language, or that they own
pink! pink!
simply mean, what this stuff does, what love says, crystalline nets
of alveolar hands dip in and pulse with the blood between us .
restore me into speech.
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