The Body Speaking What the Conscious Mind Cannot Say

Hydra actively dreams, drowsing in her writhing hair,
Setting her door to draft with blind fingers reaching
For you, nothing ipsilateral wasn't found, for how
A mere hair stroke generally arrests the climatology now,

Cathedral-ceiling; flinging all nude existence the covering,
And it possibly just occurred once this side street, this star

Map, before clearing in this digital range with the flashbulbs
Of this ripeness, so she'd make it past the chief of antiquities

To stand at attention in a plumed casque, the breaks of yes
Before this list, among other amendable things she'd be writing

Awake in new limbs, and this is the ceremony recorded there
of the exemplary, of becoming new, the second status.