If a Poem was a Spell at Wizards Dell
If a poem was a spell at wizard's dell.
Would it say in a state of dual-singularity come to life 3D in bilingualarity "come walk with me"?
Wallowing a dance a snake charmer flame.
Timing light and spark plug engaged,
your heart in tune,
curls your toes like a warm dream sand, notion air;
pierces your nose in sandalwood,
Taurus, Brahma, Bull, Maiden Triangle, Shine of Hair flowing as your longing stare.
As an abionced translucent electric tendril drill
forks your 'pendage in slytherin parcel tongue,
embers crawl into the skin soft dare of air.
Masking itself in a walk through your masquerade,
party to privy's privacy of your laden glades.
Skinny's the loop, pull entrails through, the hoop
of a ring of fire kerosened carotid artery of dreams, burning bon fire of the vanity.
In anti-matter immaterial burns in it's chartreuse sun.
Shows artificial horizon, amor-gemmed, Theater of Ancient Pergamon Temple Vision.
Turn like a pendulum swung full porch swing pleasure-drome.
Higher higher getting higher.
Crackling, spitting high avatars from the pulse
of your 'drums,
at your mercurial pools sands of bar,
feet implanted to serpent the vents of heat,
like a snake on a rock in the morning sun, a firework wheeled turned fire spun ajar.
Or perched like Turtle-dove on your urchin of cover
den, your reef breached, escape futile for
the venom of the Cartographer snail
on philosophers stone tablet
of enzyming Rosetta spell translating you
like lead limestone, calcifying in literary amulet,
a portal diadem magnet balloon
ten feet thick and filling the room.
You, cocking your head to fit your mind like napsackinglove,
in breathe through its silk and leathered threads.
A cream of stream confetti leaves waxy falling cool effervescent figureheads sprawling fingers tips
reaches, to chin to lips speaking of lost coasts, shipwrecked flotsams in the foment for paintings
frothed in shadows longing long standing.
Or like divest lips, of meet to stick together and linger there like peppermint fog abreast the mists lick of palace keeps.
A heave of breath, rib expansed romantisigh es. A lily in the moonlit garden eye, solitary till till tills loves osmosis breaks the fervent cill, in your trellis overlooking the sea and a planter-box of rare earth and crystal dream-catcher chime presiding over return of ship, sultry wind in messenger mime, light-house of emotions light drips onto the waters, floodlights your beam, ascends space and time.
Copyright ©
Jude Herrick
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