the flower cycle 1

mahogany and your sulfur boats. in hisses and kisses, in chirps and wheezes. of a cold summer dandelion. trampled to the ground. perished. in the origami of a flower, and the technology of aesthetics. there was a Darwinian coalescence of geometry and rhyme. theory of the mate. the perturbations of ecology, the mutability of a clockwork botanist. the machinery and mechanics of the bleeding peal, reverberated in the cause of a neuro-literate. it really is, the delicacy of a rhythm genesis. asking, why did the flower arrange in dance, in perfection of shape and angulations of trims, to attract, in kineses of the pollinating tricks. what if your flower of the wild could mate like you, in synchrony and harmony of wildness and heat? what if the mere quiescence of a temporary magnitude, of a solitude in community, did not exist? in clusters of the flora, so beautiful it makes me cry. calling with it, the poetry of spring, the thrust of an electromotive, magnetized perfection. the diversity, the variegations, the imprint of an inchoate evolution. or the epitome of the nano-mutagenesis in its elementary, raw, coarse rubric. attached to the floral, the punctuate design. who conceived, in faculty and art, the blemish of the palette? color x at the wrinkle edge, color y at the tip and brims, color z at the center of the reproductive, contraceptive whirl. to attract, to produce, to continue, to re-live in centuries of a buried phenomenon. why is all of life, in the house of trees or gods of bliss, designed or evolved to attract, to perpetrate, to continue, into a clockwork progression. one down, four up. seven down, nine up. in odds and evens, in divisions of the laborious, the sacrosanct process of the co-evolution, the co-dependence of man, of mammal, of the lineage of the family tree rose and rose, spread and spread in a ten-dimensional vacuum. to the crustacean, the exoskeletal, i wonder, what sympathy is evoked, what lyric is unsung, what reminiscence, what obligation, what emotion is triggered at the sight of the flower. about the completion, in agency, in carrier, in vector, of the continuity of your race. mahogany, my love of words, my sulfur rings, my breathing brute, my solder god, my underworld, sit down with me. by the shade, the river side, to fondle with your yellow voice the anatomy of a dream libretto. to break in song, from lull in love, to seep in cheer and tears of your broken anguish -you say, dear valkyrie, dear valkyrie, absolve the curvature of the begotten, trespassed, and the un-belonged.