A Rose

Lord don’t increase my eye light.
Do not make my body crawl
with eyes like a the octopus’ suction cups,
omnipotent eyes rolling
towards a rose of redness.
It scares me Lord
It scares me to glimpse a rose in a rose in a rose
It scares me to sever
a rose from its outer cover,
from redness
of redness
of redness.
Have you ever imagined a rose
doing a dance of the seven veils,
of the seven veils for seven times?
And the redness … what about the redness?
Fumes froth
entwined in redness
with blown up redness
rumbling into smoke to fill space.
Redness invades you,
burns your entrails,
penetrates,
undoes veins with a flaming scissors.
It splits, snores, combs
the skin of your brain.
Redness.

Redness wastes you like rust.
It besmears you with blood,
a deluge of boutique wines
cellared in cedar barrels
under the arches
laden with old age.
No, do not multiply my eye light Lord
Do not flood me in the glare of this radiance.
Do not cast me out to be grilled
in the light of this whiteness.
Do not throw me out to rebel
in the flashing harshness of your insight.
40 Feed me only
a particle of a ray
purified in the abyss of your love
like a tremendous rose
of redness, of redness,
of redness.