This tree speaks all languages. Let us cut it down. Sitting in the conflagration a golden boy empties his ladle full of ashes. When she lifts Her skirt and removes Her garment, how fragrant like the green corn cooked in a pit. Earth closes its mouth till we are cooked in the dish as long as the attic is centered we may learn to raise another under whose roof all may live.
Umumutani thunder moves the maidens to rise up.
Rain makes the pop corn in my rain stick fall. Desire to force reality to happen can not obscure nor diminish. Quang Duc's heart never burned. Between dirt and milk stone foundation for a temple of love stone and stone wrapped with a cord from here to yonder releases with words from the sluices firm as sex light as a lotus a field of blossoms seen all outward at once. Way our milled corn fertilized coral eggs float imago the abandoned track.