Least Read Pagan Poems

the veil of the clock drops
along rungs of the shying sun  
 
the day’s final crackling  
swings an off switch
 
propel a toe to heel back to front
onto a still pulsation of pagan rope
 
fire fingers wildness, water palms stacco  
earth hairs happenstance, air limbs bright
 
upon an unbearable openness  
as stars dip scooping land
 
love to our own devices  
that drive neon masks breathless stomp vibratoless
 
I am the Gnome when digging the Foxes  
I be the Tinkerbell guide to...