With my membrane, I hug the hot
pocket of blackening air
that circumnavigated this old rock.
The hurricanes, the hail
Are the weaving of every tale
Wherein our jelly boned bodies
Are facing dismayal
Between the stars, I cast my line
Off a cosmic monorail ride
And I fish for spider-lily flowers
In nebula peninsulas for hours
The bite of a lotus
Tugs like a starved sea bass.
Tricked by my lure,
I produce a fish from heated gas
The fish wriggles in my plasmo-hands
And grasps for phasmo-friends
In an ambience of interstellar consciousness
Love, hearts, love again
Searching for the deity within
Floating like an embryo
In this mystic Sundance
On this great eternal eclipse of aging
Wherein we contemplate mortality
In front of a seasonal god,
Who visits his harvest
On his own time.