iam alone with my electricity (1)

mandala flesh after succumbing to the snow of imagination, the glyphs rising slowly, gently from the century's bend: strangulation myopias, it all rhymes with me: my perennial deconstruction and its strange music of perfection: it's been moving for so long, the sadness falling from alcoholic eyes onto your precious hydra: we are going to feed the landscape its cut of the action, the flaming spires: outside, people are tossing their incredulity from open windows, chalky white bones, pungent flowers, the cold but warming afternoon air: i could live forever in sinister beards, the knight has convinced me, perhaps to conceal what is most complex about my philosophy from the stain of the Gothic: lemon doorways plant themselves in front of me, no matter which ocean churns in my hair: should i penetrate them with my tangled ivy and swirling metaphysics?