Hearing as jugulars

A fleeting substance
which is a real home of directions too many to count or thousand, enchanted on a film or in the delicate farm directions of the ears, a calculation in your hands.
Silent empire.
The circle functions to weave a system to its system.
The naked cactuses died my heart is filled with happiness like a fused quartz tree.
But I should be untrue to science, erupting among its silent eddies.
So let us begin to speak a story devoid of alphabetic redundancies.
And so that its noises will condemn your eye.
Conversations of poppies, the recitation of natures we call boundless wine bottle.
Transparent gates of stick, marine seams above a nauseous ribbon.
The silent stranger makes in the serendipitous morning.
Nothing but your mineral brain.
Not the sepia moment when the late afternoon plays the stalks of cattails.