The Spirit eyes look one upon another
as nature turns her dust and forms
into shrines of the star lit black
when the Tweedy boys readied and set
themselves off igniting as twins in
quintet songs readied by the tolls that grant
that sibyls cry out a Swahili-English chant

gravity holds against ascension as angels
justify a grand majesty about time
at up-anchor as all the Tweedys left us
was alone a politic of experiences in trance

men of little kingdoms wear colors as
atmosphere of tone like the blending
in histamines theirs is an immortality
that only they can bare
by the thaw of the arrested soul
in pictures of pleasures to share
to the sacred backbeat songs of Meroe

speak through the forum of letters
and gatherings we hear by ear
as our spirits watch and pray for all
and I as in each ball of ice of law

and letters that defy in a state of mind
that breathes to free the way of life for
a sweet art that lifts to expose the silver lining
that lit to interweave but then to unravel
and write with the wind and smoke
and fire aflame like sibylline offspring travel