Oui oui oui…

Love is intensest

Swung from a tree

Baroque branches

Knotted darkly

Know no language

Other than hospitality

…each of us

Strung so….

Precariously by the

Vagrant ankles

Over the flames that lick,

And lap from

The Magician’s over-turned

Cap 

That lies below our flailing bodies…

 At the Time we knew not,

And we are not fully educated

On the Prism’s scope as yet…

…Do we know the dope,

Or are we artless in our sequential 

Descent?...

 As the clock stands still we may repent

Or sally forth, and I chose the latter…

…Climb along the un-marked hillside  

Where the Moon darest not to fall!

 We are all of us so marred by the clutter

Of our lives

When we live and choose to wander outside,

And then catch a glance at reflections in

The spreading pools

That form without our wonderings.

Kindling that we are...

fodder for the occasional 

upshot star 

that sparkles out

from this consumptive fire

...we fall short of the well

in which we'd better see

whatever Self might be left

...As a root or grafting ball

riding out the 

pendulum 

of fate in a

constant gamble

with death.

© 01.01.2020

Bunny & Mavia Villaire