Phenology (Psalm 19), Raging Maxima 

Silking corn
sticking floor
my socks to stock my kitchen witness of
Rome’s emergent fourth fall on the telly.

For Sam’s_N --necromantic plumbed
Future of criminals hardened, great addicts of the past leaking vibraphone noise under our coriolic gates, tightening their radii now by the moment.

Would instead of grafted grain spy?
Of Ides of August coming through this sturgeon moon’s huge bruise winking?

Partially occluded blood and raw de-hearthing,
pendant in the entangled orbits of its earth mothered blast?

Suspended now to plume this lashed Eye
Flaring in the tent bearing walk, and this night staged low prior to lift off
into a domed perigee triangulating toward hills of Neanderlands.

Where integument as ends, glued by grit, turns to cladistic code:
NATSEC: Superhero drift.
Having built a superman to finally transact our misery into loneliness.'
Yet Batboy never disrespected Superboy like that.

Theater of truth, its Harlot sand homunculus, not in the castle but in the tide—the trireme from Artemis lying with Tridents
To bring rewards of slow implosion by
Clawback offspring, tokens, the gaudy kernels of augury preserved, where
particles of time’s entropic rearing arrow feathers
the now Dusting prophecy,
floating hoar loose upon the early, but omen is no mere mythic scumble for poetastery,
but an announcement—a metric if you will, a tipping point for looming maxima of rage begun as
crypto-chi cheek-felt like ickthy-phallic shadow, but coming to
such skeletons these mulefish nets daubing destined--its temples’ stoning fill.

Physician, Outside the dignity of time--
Heal thyself!

--Douglas Blake Olds