There is exotic in repeating,
pouring in a
censer.
Swinging lasso, carefree.
It floats circular, heady, hypnotic;
pollinating everything open in my wake.
Ritual of joy.
This time, I am brave enough
to leave nothing unsaid;
the whole
makes cosmic sense.
Orbed. Embraceable.
I am compelled to whisper it in round.
A chant. Maybe a
prayer,
on the brink of a spell.
on the brink of a spell.
tk/August 2014
Hypnotic read by R.A.D. Stainforth ...
