Time past tumult-fodder getting wet
by the ton plummets up the sky
dispersing wild syllables an anarchy
of storming signs into systems
that can’t be understood for a simple reason
that everything is participating
loftily or low invading the public
sphere with swaggering plasticity
of wind swooping in like an eagle
from the stratosphere and its buffeting
thin soup and chardonnay brought
out and down to confessional exaltations
and propitious gossip and skeptical advancements
over the situated dragonflies
flitting understanding of many existences
up minute cascades over every object
an object of controversy down scales
on a saxophone in time if falls
are really to be found
around the bend of the blind hour
or syllabic doppler of the senses
thought into fruits on a grandmother
of trees aproned somewhere
raptor-forested
with gray-green philosophy
in fog hung with phrase of protest
proceeding at expedition speed in complicated company
on tread-worn tires to a barricade to turn
vertiginous as when one stands in the wind
from the swaying spine of a misplaced palm
or proper pine or onion around onion
under the skin of wood light
or is it insight now
out of view and soon
contradicting distance
as if it were an over-the-counter fluttering
drug or out-the-window falling dollar
in its death flow with a splash