Idealic

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Grab
some
buds
from the tree of perplexity
while they’re hot
as the known universe
its friable chips, mounds
of light fragments signifying
worms struggle under
in the dawn epistles that flood
these leopard underwear –
a kind of covenant
with bitterness, and vengeful
doves, their mouths full of herbs
and lambs, and hard-boiled plots
in the burnt-up bush of humid
fascination
Amateur descriptions of amateur
artworks bite the sky into friable
parts that speak their minds
as whirring motors in (and of) (a) vengeful
dawn.
A pliable incantation
for the new city of the droning
heart. Then I am tall and delirious
and wise with curiously elegant
stochastic buds.
In this numinous world, trumpets
are recast as alto saxophones
ravenous for the studied
innocence of inbred blossoms.
In the milk of a primordial
coconut, a nose doctor
hiding in Italy
awaits a complex
sentence
the little fruit
bat worries about
in a slather of 
conceptual haze.
Then
the leopard underwear
sing
an annoying melismata
to all sextillion gassy
stars, pushing furiously forward
into an exact
cataclysm

made of lace.

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