Homes Need Domes
Course, rusty cloud, and cluster all’s crown.
Cast our bated desires; swim our pleasure view.
Clearly, give us names, old hues, clues to bones
submerged in hunger’s stew. I do risk a chew…
Lady lip flutters by butterfly wings, and we’d,
duly, rather sip manna dew, construe fountain
complexities as simple to dos. That old rust dye
illusion vaped counter to lies’ cut crusts’ escape.
Fuzz’n’balls brush mutilated memories of songs
that cast off clouds, that no longer do as a cue
of justice, as it claps the cracks you, inside, know.
Eyes turn, you see, bolt by bolt, motion-sensed.
Colossal chip chunks bolted by electric flashes,
raw, electric funds, chip and collapse and crush
closet wishes walled by stormy, flag pole pinnacles
that our view rarely escapes. Homes need domes.