Chloroformed Arms through the Bated Flight

The quickened pulse of the river streams beat along the rocky bed.
The earth tows with a headless flank
to cut the currents through the sky.
 
The trade winds blew the dandelion
and the water weeds of earth that lost its mind
shimmer through the flood in the basin swamp.
 
The dandelion travels along the West
and earth extends trees to only sullen clouds.
 
The people sleep below.
 
Whether the Great Deluge hammers down
the pouring spout,
and the pitter-patter of devil sprites crawl along the pane of the sheltered door,
the storm is hypnotic
and I can barely disjoint my lids in the lull of time
to be defeated as the earth is roused and split by heaven,
while the sun still floats aloft some chariot
stowed away by humid dragons
and to rest in a place of not to not care,
for the stew of climate ameliorates ambition with a raspy blow.