Druid

Can I see the universe into an
elliptical bleeding trail? One that time
or tomorrow cannot delay the stain-
plated earth its aphorism. Its main is
plasma alongside a barrel-wagon driver,
fixing the wheel that does not rotate the hammer,
only the cove that pours life's word garden
beautiful, like an earth, but a partial cup
of third world polemics,
which houses the wagon, driver and the green spine,
while the Wren and Jack Rabbit watch on exaustively,
the blood of the sweat of the time.

I have two eyes, so no thing grows in deserts
belonging to Oceans; and of colder climates
there remains few boiling points,
but black holes I can put us in,
one at a time, kisses with waving hands,
arms with reaching spells and static wheels.
But they too exist as shadows, a blackness
uncontested by the sun, which burns and bleeds
the wagon-driver, who is once tired of the job
leaves the soaking spot his presence,
being just as much here as there.

I am dead and I am alive,
and while I am dead I am still life
constant force and chaos course,
that nothing stays but passes through
in secret reservoirs for cataclysmic wealth-
one day, just shoot the earth,
transcend an erebus if you can knowing
today is just a day reborn
ostracized by tomorrow.

__________________
No thing happens at random but all things as a result of a reason and by necessity.
(Aetius 1.25.4=67B2)