The echos of inverted falling
scream tightly into the vein of pulsing blood,
as flesh curates flesh
until each is in awe of promiximity’s absurdity.
Whistle the wonder of beating light,
may reds and greens be the delights to live
inside the fractured pieces of daytime
which play back on the drapes of your eyelids.
Hold now quivering fingers,
so unsteady from the rhythm
purling inside all our chests.
Exhale the fumes of whirling hips;
let the smoke cloud
rise to the rafters
so we may all look at
the redeeming cloud
exultantly crafted by instinct.