Retina of Imagination

Phasing in and out under the night waves
 
over the bodies in poppy bulb    
past the irises inundated in purple beams.
At the break of the wish totem        
and the unsealing of classic reads in the hollow,        
at the stake of tried flags to the river        
eroded at the helmline,        
immortal        
faced to the phantom's vision port        
against upstream canyon and upstream trout.        
Roll eyes over a fog        
and sews lampshade in the air.        
Once chews the tip off a gun, sprays fountains powder of linguistics        
onto the deaf encasings of the aged and undead world.        
        
In this breath, there are delta valleys.        
All falls to the sea.        
"Let there be,"        
where you belonged then.        
Storm riders lockstep in shadow.        
       
And who might you be?        
A mouth of linguistic powder        
that tears my eyes. You lipsync in the crisp        
the safari of classic novel        
interjected by your own heavy pause        
and release of a new write,        
which is your book.        
Puffing up the lungs of intuitions        
buoyant and winged on a sky lantern.        
I realize that I expected you to contact me you gave the only work to that night,  
so in the rotation off from this day,        
I come  
return a glide of a bluing bird        
to its nestling dyes and wood fibre.        
And maybe to hear blown chalk again        
outside the frame of the purple beams.