Invocation From the Unfelt Moment

The sublime interference

Of the clock's hands

Upon the hour.

Torus:

On which, distortions of

All these moments sour.

The electrical moment

Of a heart, the beat

Imparts a symphony

What is this mystery ?

The torsed feeling

And cognicentum

One and the same.

A Dali painting- the

Melting clock, slides

Out the frame-

Expectant wall, territy

Of earth-

Upon which

The sidereal rain of

Can only fall so slowly

Mysteries  and

Illusions in the

Process of unfolding

Sextant- lose direction

Your walls of

Brass are now molting

Earth and sky are one

And in this poem

They are now flowing ;

The austerity of birth

Veins dilate beneath

The mechanical momentum.

The evental and the eventum

Carved into the decade

Of the decayed cadence

And the disarrayed extrudance

Empty becoming the flowing

Of shapes to the influent

Trust in many shades the

Heart is melting in and

Out of; phase

Exuberant hell!

A thousand passions

In which the day

Met a million passages

Just to cleave the heart

In bent sedition -

Oh the misfit tug of time

The tumult, cascade, and

Pantomime;  in a moments

Time, gone from calmness

To a swarm of Lyrids.