uchronia

a world in which
our dust we choose
to receive as love
so as to move
massage temple
unkempt mind
an empty vessel
for Love to find
invite her in
with trusting gaze
crossed eyed ache
uncouthy mage
curtailed mind
no more of this
why would we choose
to ignore a gift?
chaos lamp
chorale my lungs
my creed of choice
my myth of tongues
hold on to reason
there be a wave to ride
dear dyschronic season
meet the anachronic eye.