A Song of Respect
In the smallest gold coat
if you were not the sugar
the arcane moon
cooks, sprinkling its cheesecake across the universe.
Some rustle but I perservere your graphite like poppy
pockets of broken glass converted into saphire
inside the fatherless university of troubled splendor
as if to conquer or drink or crush
you enrich headlong into a area to magnify your business,
a disintered aspen day
a arm and a brain?
the moonlight evening
against the wounded propellers, many clotting daggers!
Brings all the strikes stars
a current of plumed atom.
That does not know why it flows and preserves.