Easter earthquakes. . .

Poetry unfolds in cacophonous rays
of orange Easter earthquakes. . .
Wordless juxtaposition with
winter's grey heavens
thru which needless needle
no rich camel may pass. . .
All these words as one
returning to the inevitable dust
or passing subliminally into
the realm of stagnant tradition.
Slash revolve then burn the vowels
back to their original breathy code.
Silent energy merging with her
greater mind.
Then dive again, abandoning
all thoughts of solidity.
Crack open fleshy thighs
and fall between the burning belly.
Sweet pink rosebud revolutions,
future ecstasy beneath limestone ivy cliffs.
Great roaring pleasures in the hysterical
lush green Garden of Eden.
Painting the mediterranean Eve joyfully
with the seed of creation.