the second lapse: the story of two bulls

in this place called heaven
we have found morality
to be a slut,
we have found solitary
angles pressing
circles
into heaven again.

supposing our angst follies
more oft than should
the settled dust,
more oft than would
valleys disguising
brooks
into follies again.

eternity rejects life, as should be the better gray of our mirrors
searching for fog instead of ourselves. the vast whisper of universe,
like a sister at dawn, tells secrets of impenetrable days and rests
lazy on the doorstep- promsing flowers and slow sunsets and a sky
that seizes the eyes; at once with the senses ambling a sigh
toward the midnight gaze of stars and their consequence
too perverse
for the colors
of day, night, eternity
or dead
hounds
aiming their noses
at every path of mine roses.