Twenty Twelves

when the winter solstice
sun
aims at terra
to echo across the veiled bellybutton
of the via lactea,
i see
a great upheaval
within the freeways
and main avenues of your blood;
and the corners
and alleys
of its dozen strands
indeed, i see them awakening
with great lion roars…
with great pi's and obelisks
its shadows hissing
with the scorpionic cacophony of the water jar…
to make the juices boil…
to make the rims of land
toss the misinterpretations
of those who once practiced freewill;
bequeathing the moons
to make bread for the dead;
castrating the prisons of existence's
pineal gland.
and fireworks i see,
that are launched downward...
the mist for the west for the west is the best,
and elongated skulls
bearing
orionic crowns of mud.

“here comes the rain again...
here comes the sun…”
the prophets said.

and the waterproof poles of earth
i see,
waltzing with the equator's roof…
heated tsunamis, i see,
rearranging the asteroid belts,
the xibalban vests inaugurating new ball games,
and mars’ great wound
designing noble asanas
and
at last enjoying salt…
at last petrified to rest.

but invisible to those
of myopic eyelashes
-to those who do not wish to feel-
these comets of evolved dances
strolling through your spine,
music only to those who pay heed,
the paused button
finally robbed
and taking your measurements
for the upcoming robes.

i see a funnel pointing
at the soil's name
in castilian.
i see the continents levitating
to the sneeze
of constellations,
volcanoes developing allergies,
winds carried by chariots.
and i see you there, my love,
holding my hand,
taking the passage with me
-our foreheads erecting a centric well;
--our outlines emanating colors that taste like rainbows;
---our insides at last producing love.
the love that is simply
free of zeniths,
gender,
and trees of knowledge.

connect the dots you see in the sky
and tell me,
do you hear the music near?

isn't it carnivalesque?
isn’t it sand and beach?

bring your cosmic bathing suit.
it’s going to be an aquatic ride.