brewing storms

Everything-experts parade their glamours across the wall
With calamity striking the poses that spew magnetism.
Psychotic. I have not the capacity for these envies
Breaking rich order into chaos, delaying light
I cast the first stone.

Bleak suns whirl and are captive
At once, with wild chemical properties and relish:
They stain.
August empties itself onto September-
A delicate purge; sweet; gracious.
Icons dither and hum, and traipse back to their cradle:
We produce in half-sizes, too.
High quality.  Subliminal
Symbolism has its location, and shuffles in knots
Towards the screeching-shut doors, it nudges in secret signals
At failing ideas.
But which crook dare suggest it?
(And not harass the thought, quietly, into each cell of skin
Or even silently, as the winds of hurricanes are silent
As though gagged.)
And yet we know and entertain it.
And yet we hold it above all else-

Everything ends.