:

The bottles shine their plumes of blue phosphorous
the ten mouths of the forest

the blue flame lingers over blue fronds in profound accord

::

In America the dead bird kings a lost brass souvenir

______- incandescent encores of remorse

one blue woman entering the sleeping house

the red and white lake of flowers

:::

to aspire to does not repeat
            the eye like a maker

                                    entices
                                    or makes a face

                        -I wait for your voice
not to lose others in deliriousness

::::

The variety with which the great reflect will make their god alarmed