12 Little Spells (Thoracic Spine)

12 little wells of golden ink

Bone bottles stacked mouth to tail

Arching your back into the sand cloud

Our thoughts underneath her skin

Arctic to equator

A pair of sympathetic ridges shift

You've evolved to harness

These constant eruptions

Through vascular pen heads

Tectonic verse flows

Riding again, again, again, again, again (They all can seem purple)

I'm floating a lucky heart over their palm

Casual ribs house an expanded mind

Left and right hemispheres in balance

Constant composition and eighty scribbles per minute

Let us flow towards that

Transfer every character that circulating function

Nests flowing forward

Out the snaking valve

(Nothing eternal)

It too dipping itself in and out in intervals

12 little wells of golden ink

Bone bottles stacked mouth to tail

Penned in its planet 'round the cracky pole

The inner hall expands in gilded breaths

Compelled to give itself the moment it is for

Compelled to give itself the moment it is for

Compelled to give itself the moment it is for

Compelled to give itself the moment it is for

Compelled to give itself the moment it is for

Compelled to give itself the moment it is for

Compelled to give yourself the moment you are for

Compelled to give yourself the moment you are held

Compelled to give yourself the moment you are for

Compelled to give yourself the moment you are held