Can’t turn a succubus around with magicians cards
A Heart not made for a hill climb
marked out for the morning.
Opening up late night for a golden view
Of hand signals for a once bull rushed market
Pisces of a fixed sign always out of water.
as the willow brush the ledge
Pressing feathers into leafs for dancing magpies
Within the mathematicians springtime
the missing coin now Folds paper nests
roses to float and ruses to fall.
Leaden legs sailing past the temple Islands
of old longitude rivers and latitude minds
banks joined by ironed out bridges
ones that can’t be burnt.
To sit amongst rising lavender fields
with bowed bumble bee strings
A chiming machine penny for paper
Great races change like sunset isobars
Setting rhythms of Oval points
to all the missed stars.
above a head Of crowned new heights
Still they Hide the streams
feeding rivers below fallen walls
As antlered shields of consciousness
a domino red box of a paradise laden future.