12 Little Spells (Thoracic Spine)

Twelve little wells of golden ink
Bone bottles stacked mouth to tail
Arcing 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 pennance
Tectonic verse flows
Riding again, again, again
Again, again
(They all can seem perfect)
All 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 there, circulating function
Nests flowing forward out the snaking valve
(Mouthing the eternal)
It too dipping itself in and out in intervals

Twelve 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 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