Pagan shrines and illusory skeps....

"jasmine foxed me in her grove"
get out of my garden...
I see you lingering.

jesuits in colors bled from strangeness, delusional-licorice, pensive, look a lot like the skin of my
ghosts.
here in this garden, i'll raise storms, blast boundaries, step sideways
and into the pollenated realm, the sleep of it, the sleep.
cannot hold me in your mathematics, i'll call
old names,
verses out of time,
sing it out into skies open wide with water and cotton-wisps.
i'll build it and they will hear my voice.
i'll wait here,
datura,
sleepy bell.