Adam Moore
The Winter Garden
Reflecting castles gelatinous undulations warble warble warble warping heaving hefting glugging
Drizzling like birds into the murky mire where gloam zooms beneath but across a swan cuts like blade on the glassy isle and then is gone
Rhizomes ripple across enchanted gleams
The upper heavens sing with aluminium wings. Trinkets under the stars. This way and that, and that, about the skies. Turgid metals reflecting O radiant light tween the heavens. Ghastly. I gasp. I gulp. They fly. They all swoop the loop.
Pyramid to watery pyramid the rustle. The zone of indeterminate preprioceptions that cause a queas of unease to droop and dollop through. But we like it, some of us do.
Ambre shades navy wavy to greyvy. We love it when it turns and it ends before we love enough it seems, it’s ripples echo on on and on and inward.
Somewhere safe to stand and shine and pine and feel sublime. Is in all and is all. Boating, pre boating floating. Before its wiped away again like a leaf of a book or the wave of a page as it turns like a tide so vast and so wide finding where we were we cannot.
Glitter.
Satin.
Silk.
Jazzy lasers electricity fizzing in the corner.
A ledge, a ledge, my kingdom for a ledge!
…slowly, slowly, trawling, trundle on.
We align aloft shining on briny dimples, occurring.
We vanish into the near distance round the bend and then vanish vanish.
Trails, high and low, up and down, over the waters and over the skies.
We gleam and turn on tides 1:1.
We gleam and turn on tides alone nought to one.
Shimmering shimmying shining
Light hits my eyes and radiates inside
Light my eyes and I feel so sublime
Light hits the surface and refracts inside
In all of these waters of mine
The light hits my eyes and I shimmy and shine
Twinkly and sparkly divine
In all of these bodies of mine
In all of these gardens I find
In all of these gardens of bodies of mine
All in all all of the time
We gleam and turn on tides alone nought to one.
Bloat down into beyond.