Th Thunder

A threshing rain of wide
suffering holes in drought
 in trypophobic rain

  Lances of some maw outstretched
    gathered in crystal clumps
      under a wind tree

  Oh larcenous old folk of
     yonder village rise
         I wonder thee would falter

  Great monkey neighbors
   monitor ounces of drought
   deciduous dry leaves

 Gathered clumps of time
    in winter waves
       all trickle-dreams of the no-sphere

Oh monitor grey fairies
  long meticulous necks
   outstreched o’er a great maw

and candles of little rid pilfers
 dotting afros in bushes and trees
   kept red menace in winters hood

or the canyon whelmed above
 caught in soft thickness of rain
    pattering plop plop plop

final absence of falcons
 and other well winged things of prey
   no darting or swelling or swooping today

                  can you see the river is clear?
                    and dotted with crystal perfection?
                          modern rivers borne of

weialala a lei lei
leialia la la a la lei
weialili a lei o lei o
laelaelo laelaelo


             and did the rain chirp candles into breathing?
                 on monographic frames caressing
                      softer whiter walls of hung
                        draperies furnitures divans and loss
                             capped in futile tins for later when
                              the sun begins its resignation
                           
                 and did distant uncle thunder render human speech comedic?
                       ovary silence in undulate waves, pressing pink
                           fluid down ventricle shafts where pleasure and
                           passion create now as one, in frequent passings by
                              forests a pregnant creature finds solace in raindrops
                                       whispering essence of nowhere with lazarus ears
                                             
                           or did Mother Raindrop tickle lanterns into being
                                  magnificent violet fireflies, spacial resonant
                                       magic reducing calliginous fingers to dust
                                               the sun beats in the tiniest heart
                                                      and resigns from its magic
                                                           only once at night

                     Father Thunder speak for there is nothing immortal in me
                                 I will go, bone to bone, back to dolores grave, back
                           to the obsequious worms that were always vested in flesh
                              you are the immortal of thunder and i bid thee speak to reason
                                  grant me the color of your profounding age!
                                         He spake thus: Damyata
                       
       
                                                                  ringing the flat dreams to colours
                                                                   
                                                               and the rain poured on