Syllable Cloud

Engage the bleeding. Art springs a pitcher. If they yank a tempting loaf a system of laws limps toward protocol. Opens. Pounds. The arms represent a complaint. If the thesis invites hearts the encyclopedia boils with bric-a-brac. Reflects my ripe hammer. Apples sweat. Despite a widened pink that includes snow. A collar stud engine & a concertina that squeezes pain. Parliamentary draw stumbles through offices shooting. And ponders a brass problem, the one that everyone thinks is recognizable, but unnatural. Invisibly religious vividness carved from a syllable cloud. Our tea fastened to balloons. Fantasy bouillon. Hills of contrasting tread. Paradigm change. Flower walk. Sparkling. Surface scrounged for deeper meaning. Incendiary bells. Unfettered capitalism in a cackling soliloquy. The weight of a face in a bleeding forehead. Meanings catch the living process as it crawls out of its shell & dances for money. Searches books aggressively written by Gothic spiders in a permissive stupor. Books offer solace. Supposition. Quarks eating regret until it turns malleable. Deepening metamorphism. I pray more & more each day. Amplified strings lost to seclusion cause old emotions to heave into conversational grandeur. The fondling flaps until the ultramarine falls into rawhide expanding the glass & making an octagonal Friday walk on its hindlegs. Hot ganglions developed into sequins by comparison to a cruet. Tensions folded into words that busy the mind like the gnarled roots of a humid idea. Mosquitoes blacken the ceiling. Beams. Pharmaceuticals burning through emotions, trickling penumbra. Nails prominently featured by divisions of time. Knobs. Age falling through cracks. Ambiguities on the glittering sand of a nuclear ocean. Abstract cherries entertaining life’s illusions with perfect aplomb. A description of mind rendered in truffles & stars resumes its twigs in subjective iron, causing words to blossom into sleighs. We declare ourselves on a piano of snow. Water drags the lobster. We jump out to paint the magician. Ganglions insinuate density by roaring at cracks of phenomenal webbing. Cézanne’s swans revolt. Travel crushes space. Chisels become proverbs, innocence becomes a watercolor. I wiggle the ocean in my mouth. That thing called life sits at a desk reaching for paradise with a sheaf of paper & a tremulous hand. I glue the constancy of ovation in a box of applause. Mysterious signals from distant galaxies imply that a melody might also be a node of optimism in an otherwise indifferent universe. Or nothing at all.