The Crescents sinkholes.

When the only thing holding you back from 

joining the velo are cymbals that are visibly 

risen and the keys cut to a city that saw you 

lost in the sinkholes you failed to tack.

like the temper  you couldn’t dialate 

Those riveting attempts to disguise yourself 

the tapes playing in seismic eyes 

the ruby koi kite that couldn’t launch to fly.

the catfish barrelling In the sky can decide.

Seasons fell away to atmospheric discontent

four motioning of the numerical positive 

twenty nine counting the magnetic overlapping .

That made me run a mile to hyperventilate 

In opposing directions of a educational idealism 

The Bowls Of dirty gold and the template built 

In the sleeveless leading insects into prayer.