deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Honeysuckle Snow of that Unsung New Year
Distilled young sun off gray floaters.
Dry shower through unstrewn touch,
the icelessness fell.
In season,
boldiers of calzon dough beaten through a basedrum
that folds into oversaturated heartwood at the tree hip.
A scratching fur bumps out the glass in a drop of a leather nosegaurd
as ethanol washed out in its melted rocks
the tingling of a bruise.
Repassing the bee's tongue of blows from levee,
30 packed cotton balls brined in a bagged salt sea,
left for residue by the escape of the harmonica reed.
A toweled water hit the hand for fortune like concrete
in child resting asana
and meditated the cups by a polarity,
cups spit out from the pulsed hydrogen net.
Now my hand smells of lichen to the light head from the spheric skim of melody.
An asterisk craddled out of a skeletal ladder and upstood pincers
whipping over a resigned period
— emphatic, transient hurl.
Behind there was scattered snowflake crystal
centered by a snowball.
Withdrawn from there was a suction arch in confetti string poured down the green tips
The Bose-Einsteen condensate possessed and unpossessed
on an open canvas of twirling blackout.
That incandescent starbow smiled with the bite of a Native American wolfdog
in a sailing, then rippling pur
and pearled the skyline as its brush sponge.
The land's battle-drawn confusion
returns to a new fog tucked from the high moon in which it was conceived on millenia of pushpin paper.
Dry shower through unstrewn touch,
the icelessness fell.
In season,
boldiers of calzon dough beaten through a basedrum
that folds into oversaturated heartwood at the tree hip.
A scratching fur bumps out the glass in a drop of a leather nosegaurd
as ethanol washed out in its melted rocks
the tingling of a bruise.
Repassing the bee's tongue of blows from levee,
30 packed cotton balls brined in a bagged salt sea,
left for residue by the escape of the harmonica reed.
A toweled water hit the hand for fortune like concrete
in child resting asana
and meditated the cups by a polarity,
cups spit out from the pulsed hydrogen net.
Now my hand smells of lichen to the light head from the spheric skim of melody.
An asterisk craddled out of a skeletal ladder and upstood pincers
whipping over a resigned period
— emphatic, transient hurl.
Behind there was scattered snowflake crystal
centered by a snowball.
Withdrawn from there was a suction arch in confetti string poured down the green tips
The Bose-Einsteen condensate possessed and unpossessed
on an open canvas of twirling blackout.
That incandescent starbow smiled with the bite of a Native American wolfdog
in a sailing, then rippling pur
and pearled the skyline as its brush sponge.
The land's battle-drawn confusion
returns to a new fog tucked from the high moon in which it was conceived on millenia of pushpin paper.
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