Rosy Slime Slam

He who rides the undulations
of the viceral bismol blend
cascadings falling upon themselves
in unfurling ripple roar for
forward surfing the receding 
horizon among conjectures drowning
unfolding innumerably nucleic numbers 
dancing until you smile round 
and rosy with fresh blood ablush and
coursing down the arc of clotletting
til lo, the floor stands before you
and your bones wrinkle into the
counter punch of an ungiving threshold
held as truth though it quavers 
nonetheless and you will step through
to the room of all answers adorned
in that abandoned pastiche of patterns
you call your precious cartography
yet here lies an unpatinated lens 
for your impatience to drink its sate
of twinkling starstuff argentilated in the 
nightmilk of unregretted rose hips 
plucked from the ferment of florescence
just remember heaven's fire only burns
in rarer oxygen with a bluish fervor
not unlike brimstone's siffling redolence
concreted thrones of virgin yellow sulfur
melting into a syrup of turkish delight
or that ambered ruby medicinal decoction
we suckle to thrust our apprehensions onto
some schema - any semblance of at best
borrowed dominion so we may point to 
negations and sleep soundly in their
unsnowing poppy fields dreaming of
an emerald gaze framed in yellow briquets
trusting that in the morning
we will wipe away the sand and 
blush like new slippers tapping.