Soon It Will Be Midsummer

[alexanderscttb]

I let that bramble star flower go,
O lily of the Lethe
I wanted to trade you for an apple,
            that peach-tree blossom;
With the sun pouring over the hill,
            egg-molten.
Pan the crow,
peter-bird in the Rodeo.
In a trash bag of leaves.
The mush of pomegranate.
As the severed head was lured back
            into the lair of the incubus,
The astral flight became like
            a circumcision of my soul.
And I began to wonder, do those
            who love God, love people less?
Do those who love God
           love less?

白
森
。