Manifesto

I have found it --
The poem being.

What is the poem being?
A mode of display,
Loops of language
Coruscating
Into congregating
Idols, the symbols
Of her electric face.

Here is the shine
Of beautiful lips
Forming the tips
Of beautiful words!
Words not, indeed,
Fragmented, pieces
Torn from linguistic
Fadaises,
But the spoken, the true
And the true, not spoken
But red.

When?

When the valleys are embodied
In promises,
When lyrical lilts
Come to their own
Green being.
Then the oceans
Will not separate
But agregate
Into a poetry seen.

Meanwhile, watch
How the poets dissolve
Like drops
Sublimate in salty streams,
While taste
Bleeds sallivating sips
Of clear dyeing slime;

Watch history
Melt
Like butter
Of clear
Days
Into a dusky
Philosophical glaze;

Then raise towers of triumphs
To the ground, and raze
The burning towns:

The clear smoke
Of a raining flame
Blurs
The line from heaven to hell.