The — Linn’ing mirror,
is my surrender,
meaning
which comes in yellow,
—and closes in blue.
So close to Olives,
the swollen calling,
the Linn'ing dreaming,
of summing tinning.
Of moons in swimming,
while fallen praising,
of red and yellows,
in Golden halos.
So calming lemon,
The flesh off venom,
Of Lennon phenom,
of amber clear— on.
The wet on—cannon.
Your flames in denim,
wearing in fennel
The smell, my fellow.
The Frozen In Time
of water bouncing
revolving,
—Calming And moving,
Weaving and treading,
your name is miming.
Linn’ing, and flying.
©Rémy Rytepo
