Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

If long enough I dangle and the wind
chimes form my company, I’ll sometime lose
that strictest perpendicularity
that prevents except a staid erection, tall
and turned away from run away—but dust
on dust, I’ll never hang forever up—
and when I fall – a mobile mid the chimes –
how gracious that descent’ll sound; it climbs
on note-scale hooves of gallop giddy-up
and, yes, already all dead weight is thrust
against those chancest wind chime tones—I fall
against all chaos’ own polarity
that I can’t ever dangle—but suppose
comes Worthiest when dangle strengths rescind.

sounds like
the sexual geometry of the flesh as grass