Opened

The diamond harlot        
vomited a rainbow emanation,        
even wet herself a rose of waves aborted.        
       
The roof didn't look so blue.        
Honestly mildewed cedar.        
It reminded her of her father when it exhaled a howling bronchitis        
in pollen fumes        
that coelesced to the wall with her other immunities,        
   
yet all with a story        
of the burdens of its arch        
before the broken back.        
It's home.        
Don't take that man away.        
       
The barley malt sinks through the holes of her smoked through teeth.        
The white was the fog draping her eyes.        
       
Weeds cultured a confidential sun        
next to the American bittersweet she chewed for restitution      
after a dog had eaten the face off the wedding cake        
the back-way storekeeper in dismission bequeathed.   
       
Her convulsions killed her        
when finally a wasp said she should die and, gambling with demons and Christ,
she accepted.

Her sanctum bloomed into a wasp nest.   
Civilization bored it down        
and,
though species duel for each square of dirt,        
only the two-legged primate can monopolize up to the volume of a pascal of air.        
       
The beasts,
as well as the protagonist I'll abandon in the next verse,
kneel to Ouroborous
that is the creeping entity of nature's divine.