Of The Time Not So Far Away

(For whom the stark naked beliefs are a mirror's reality. I crave thee, till the days perish off the Creator's almanac.)


Shining in on the surfaces of serene
The age-old eagles of tumultous hearts
Rocky outgrowth where tumbles dawn and tired 
bedsheets moaning in crystal patterns
the shivering tide of kissing layers of aqua and pensive bosom
of the pearls and the dormant beasts of the native grey
the creases of my opalescent blankets
cradling them oblivious
of fangs or razoracids for the soaked-in scents
and baths of occult vapours
I find a circling stream of consciousness
which heaves in the petals of revolutionaries
and bloodlettting whiteness
swinging in with unsure nervous grasp at the lowly lights of city's last opera, its first waterdrop
and tearstreams of gardenrain
rivernights of woodenshields
shatterboughs in southernflights
merrylands whose letterbeds
glovetombs or motherviolets
azuretaste, neigh, heatherfoam
ciderboom but otterzeal
inchfool or dropjoy
inasmuch 
the 
finality to close your eyes
in love.