Call these piled clouds, tall toppling bubbles
So they sit gathered upon my shoulders
Like plastered cherubs with bugles and flute
Blue note sets Weeble free tarantella
I shall wash in this thick winter frost, hot
Till hail spills warm from my brow Baptismal.
Desire born for this season, Christened
In cursive fonts like Ariadne's thread
Lay traced in rotting archaeology
Its direction reckoned in forensics.
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