Chris Moran

Stone Cat Gaze

I have a bee's breath. My attention
is not great.

To hook the bee in a different image,
a decanter.

A 24 hour fast is like making babies.

A cat in a bee costume wants to trick or treat.

Sun showers, pyramid of light.
I have a complex psychological relationship with a cat.

* * *



Butterflies with human faces are confusing
yet strangely beautiful. The burning scroll in my mind

provides a new spectrum.

The depth of the hue is my body.

Language is a gleaming wand in my hand, a butterfly net.

Pyramids point up, like the wand in the magician's hand in the first Arcanum.

Rainbows are inflamed.

A chance to climb a mountain, I should miss this;
I view things coldly from a distance.

* * *



Stone eye gaze in the silver forest.
Vague, windy days ruin the sunset.
Sun-drenched skin will ease in the mountains.

To be bare, a portal, a horse skeleton, a sea of muck, a head without a body;
Or an astral crown foaming like a rose in ether.
A rain of flower petals.
Rainbows are inflamed in the night when they are invisible.
A physical experience of truth.
Vivid colors in a landscape, like mountainous rainbows.
And I still have not writhed in my home.

* * *



I love the way I feel a shower.
Boundaries disappear like a dark wall between us.

Spirit in landscape, a brooding dream. Keep it alive bro.

* * *

A crystal blade passes through me and my heart is raining out roses.

A cat cannot make the sound of laughter, but it can purr.

I would like to play trombone again in a marching band.

A rainbow of pure mind is in a tea cup. A decanter. A prayer for protection.

Or tear a hole in this vanishing facade while I sponge up the impurities.
I shout at the spleen brigade.

I make peace with the past.
The spring brigade shouts wine for half a century.

The chariot is drawn by sphinxes, like a bird.
I will slap my own face with a rose.

Panic, please. I am alone.

* * *



















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