Lonely the roses of Avondaire sing as though somebody
still may care.
They live only for the dream of living so come follow
where they will take you there.
I once was apprenticed to a man who was living
in the eye if the hurricane to know despair,
He knew all the dreams by heart just like sailing in a
crystal silence seeing visions of the world of life
within a life.
In a turning like a burning came turning
out of everything stirring and what had begun before
but all wrapped up in one great godly becoming -
Tumbling and fumbling and stumbling
into bumbling and rumbling along -
whirling it and swirling it and twirling it and hurling
and overturning it and burning it again.
I shared a whirling dervish out on the side of a hill
called metaphore vivace
swinging en route to a nascent solar with the scissored
visored blizzard wizard
gizzarding planets and secrets within like an avatar.
While meanwhile in turnstyling and spinning over him
spells bespeaking kingdoms in the dark
calling me to yield knighting me in a field covered
and with princes. All were signing cannons shining
And when he spoke to me he sang and his words really
this child of the knowledge of the beauty of the night
he sang to me of masters passing on of father after
father after father
climbing up into the lotus bloom upon the tortoise's
and of grandfathers who danced through their living a
longer time ago.
He showed me a palace in time in which all the
from all the zeuses swing upon a pendulum of secrets
in a circle that remembers and when asked a question
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