Sunday, 17 October 2010

Poem : Eleve times Eleven

The bee falls into a prism
and reflects the spectrum of the unconscious flower,
a Euclidean flavour of the tongue
that recurs in the eyes of table legs.

The tree collapses into a cube
as we steal a handful of dreaming spheres repeating.

The boy who wishes he was parallel
is held rigid between the concept of breathing.

The pretense of brain cells creates magnificent waves,
leaves twitch like muscles,
before a ravishing complexity of vibrations arrive
and your cheekbones lift.

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