a letter to Wesley

august 15 4036,

dear Wesley,
to revisit earth from the revisiting eye
face to face was himself in mirrors
acquainted in the apparels of calm water
when broken jagged of curtain far recedes to sea
characterized, they are crown of half heads mundane
leash the unreachable dials, ultramarine, call by botanic species
ceratophylums, or Genus:Erigeron, fissiparous
when of relish for prurient specialist,
sybaritic set of clones only falcate , inordinate erroneous
humans are cousins to cattle throes exudation
the same lights shed of their disappearance, to dust .
Deep underneath rich wonders something stuck dredged
solitaire to be up-rised neuter, testatrix gems to heir
no birth quicksands in quandary vasectomy - sprockets sobs
hard on the barks, and windless windsock
reprisal spangles and the droplets of icy dewshells
on the mynah of voices to sounds it heard
night is even on the brow tamed-as some antelope
or reindeer leading home a river blind shrub,
eyes set upon the almonds and green sea
green trees sharp as shapes of sturgeon
fleets of the tiered vessels at bay watery
slender desires , not too much- like her if departed
love parted , the instance of the heart to feel
for this thing in subjection to loves quantity.

trace from the big dipper to the Ursa minor
fears and doubt coaxed , regally, moonstruck and lights out
that life goes on , and the dead stare wanderers
for he said" i am looking for where
to buy more life". teal and mock, for ask
even the green sods that blue water spumes
the evening winds; wherein the trees bow their heads
now the nodding signposts the tan sunspots
more pyromaniacs of bones smelt, curvy
of the man in the middle of the sleeper
oceans rise as work-fields and toil
macerated from patience- zephyrs of a long night.
Profane.The skies of colour chromatography suburb condensed
a casserole rusted rattles of coin veggies- the dead
glowed when knees bent to mop as a cattle- and mope
that the sun still shines - the moon climes
in that wonders give him a break of glance
as an opinionated mushroom , parsley or a cantata.
Tunes of the fetish caliber of of wet ointments
pathways; nocturne greased forefronts, erased,
he is just as a face in the marketplace,
at an auction, stealth death there prized his being
carnivals of moonbeams to lush ebbs
in the dredged Constance of violet tapestry
old of they, the eye of sand, slumbers stardust.
Flashed through as eagles in contradictions
the sea; like a cats head dug with hands
fossil sweeps when the lottery raffle, but lowest bids
more are called than more could have been- man
unopened nostrils bed of oceans womb waited
'THEY HAVE BEEN A DONOR' of few, only that
falter wick degenerate green flame oystershells
glowers of planting seeds vision splintered,
shadows only the true measure swung similitude
the celebrant doesn't attend his own deceased umbra
strength now unoccupied the masses fugue,
kissing of gulls in chirp hermitage, paraded
on the planets, pervaded, self- evaded apparent horse-minders
the migraine of glass now shatters monarchical of retinue
blue wax and the towers belfry ''murky creatures''.

i would now sing - yingyang yoyo yew you you!
though this is a child strain, look to the motherhood of garden
heron in scarfs on stalk of green , trees and chickadees
in their mercury linen folded of fleck teardrops,
dream daises.but when she picked Parnslip, like impaired eunuchs
though they turned caskets of herons winged wind shawls
sore beneath of her distress oaks and arks, on the windows
that sow on the plush roses , they were sheathed
sunshine in the hands of diminishing return
as animate sentries , sliced and slaughtered starry
swaddling twinkling fireflies of July- tinkering toes
though quells decay- bandaged , for her shoes hostage the feet
on glimpse of warm yellow of the hazed curtains
the small aprons, the teacup, velvety sunshine
burning hands of the censer, her home nearby
her home is still far off blankets of iron heaves
she would need no clothes , no shoes incarcerate visitations,
yea; anomalies cataclysmic encomiums rancor nudity.
are there lights in that blue ? you ask, he hums
nails to dim light dulcet of folk orisons
and the trees in those dark trunk grim green
for; stress sprained an unseen dew watered
in the ponds of little jar harpsichordist the garden shadows
thus, garden crows reel and woodpeckers
grin their pain staked feather on the moon -
ah, but i mourn spare brother , i do mourn
the noise thereof sheweth concerning it,
the cattle also concerning the vapour

yours hopefully,
emeka ozurumba