Creased and stained the flame dances through the hues
Refracted sprinkles mimic the wandering mind
Figures of ghosts taunt the demonic bath
The twist and turns heat an arctic memory
The sparks of creative consciousness singe angry tatters
Have I blown off enough steam?
Exhalations and steady hands simultaneously twitch
I left my stomach in that furnaced studio
Gloved and flowing against viscous weather
Wipe your brow of traumatic moisture
Relax in the sauna of destined satisfaction
Could you soften the blow?
Rod of distortion parodies my inimical thoughts
Molded in visionary contortions and expressive ventilation
Peace of unique transparency unite with diversity
Trial and air, to air divine, can you not see beauty?
Anneal before the alter of insanity
This too shall blow over.