Magma is the
penultimate
friend
a two-handed
lover
a back-propped
other
Methane is
a pious
teacher
a stern
mother
a lofty
keeper
But these
outliers
These staggered
interests
of quasi
textual
blather
They pepper
with
unapproachable
swagger
and shrouded
hopes of
glass-looking
peering
But you
do not
require
never animate
comparisons
to the
others
For you
are
in form
a singularity
That is the
gearbox here
The chambers
of exponential-writhing
bulging
growth!
It is the
multiplicity
of valves
in finger-flecked
shape
But you
are no lit-low
flit of a sizzle
or transfer
in the night
You jab at it
you crab
and pounce
and bay
‘My life
is nothing
if not for the
bloom of they!’
