raw fields of bliss

If a closed
pair of eyes where
I could crowd
the effusiveness of 16
hours spent in doubt
and awe,
if I could stitch the
wonderful cloud
of perception behind
the dark mirror
of sleep,
if a coarse
hum of cars could
kindle the low brass
handsome innocence
of the thunder,
if the cocks collide
at hilarious dawns
in darkness the pupils
empty of light
to be cups brimming
with the honey of sense,
if the boulders of the eyes
spewed by the dreamer
land far away
in raw fields of





Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s