blue blind angels transverse their chart their paths cross skies
they are purple behind the clouds of a foreign signature immediately read by any cortex aflight as kind but dark
tiny shacks support the blue fiddler scraping a melody from catgut and dust and rosin and the timbre of his instrument is a threnody
the Kabbalists say nothing just listen to the word
their verdict encrypted in scripture
framed as a peinture is sibilant and stark as dawn elevates the heavens a heavy burden for one man a poet and any musician
those given to insomnia struggle yet are glad they see this vision to assist their dreams in slumberous states familiar to all men
though transient as any migraineur permits
the earth itself is phantomed grey and opaque scuplted randomly in converse precision as vertical as birth
brides and grooms in absentia embrace also horizontal in his paintings they are so vivid an imprint on the globe
a spent rocket a trajectory merely a tour guide though the canyons of the heart
stars explode in retrospect
as a court reserves its judgment
Flynnpoetry 