My calligraphy

where do butterflies dive under sand
so the crinkles around his eyes
might know when the blossom tree
season is on. whilst working on
a loom late one night I was
approached by a stick bug
that started bitching to me
about a praying mantis, so I
started crucifying my shrapnels
left over from the war so as
to christen his misdemeanor
with a crown of popcorn. I
asked him if he'd ever noticed
the smell that whisltes from the
trees and he replied that indeed
the center of this universe is when
you are alone, but the center of
the palm of God is when you are
singing. I cried so much last night
by the riverside as the fireworks
exploded all the joints of traction
within the citadels of the rock
'n' roll notes and I cried out "save
my baby" and I tore through
the autumn leaves and bit a
snake on the mouth with my
chest. when you were born nothing
ever smelled of anything other
than you. And you were not grateful.
Calamities strewn so tightly over
your thighs like tights that
coil at the stroke of midnight.
spiders rustle charmingly over
the penis of the drangonfly-
lord and in sequence there
tends to be swimming pools
instead of stakes that get
driven into cardboard innuendos
and crocodile tears on birds'
faces. my vagina is holy as from
it shall emerge my calligraphy