LOCAL UNIVERSE Poem by Jacob Groot

In us lies preserved what perished, to me the task
(an end) of sticking it to the wall like a ring
around the fleshy finger of the means. Hell, appointed
over me, heaven, pinned to my chest, wild times

in bed, my side her beast, bare wonder, brimming dick
aboard I am in local universe, like crystal my room
shatters and full fathom five Walhalla spins in the
ditches, that's quite a start and circulation yields the look

metallic, varnish the miroir, an alloy of the other as
a salve and myself in the shape of an army, arrested
by my breath. Keep brushing, babe. Where I nest I boozed,
my hope evaporated as rot struts astronomically

now I miss, like the winnower the ear, the heel in my rear &
the orchard scatters, graciously by hand, the shambles
full of tulips for Japan, in the sun that the rice has promised
my hole. In this cosmos I cannot sleep, my ear keeps me

to the ground on the loose ball, I clock the coma
of the coming, commands between psalms,
the unblemished temptation, till her milk has to
becalm me, to stay tied to her apron strings. O

Northern Crown, blow the blood out of orbit of the course
that benumbs me, Serpent Bearer, Big Dipper, shoot me
deeper till I can descend, in the hurricane force of the corn,
to the windmills of my mind that grind me in the polders