Fifty Filths of Burning

Times, times, times,
The strange dingbats have always told me this.
Those crazy trays of fifty filths from out of Easter-time have
Slipped this ship’s shit from the back of the pile of all my holidays,
And no more, no more,
I cannot stand to stand the light
That comes from owning anything not given.
Those anythings are here because the sacrifice has burned out a form,
Any form,
Blazing and tracing the outline never gone beyond in sleep,
Until you awaken into a similar world again and are
Shuffled
Stirred
Repeated through the most similar processes again
Again
Again
And it does not stop until there is an explosion
Of form
From form
Out of form
Into light
Bright
Dazzling sphere
Listening light of lighting lovely lights to
Outer space
Out from in
Out
Free
Godly-Burned from the limit of being.
Chase the horse,
Grab its tail,
And it is
Change
Light
Change...