the occasion of the swarovski pen

try not to make

a poem about a pen found

filled with cylinder of fake

diamonds.

it begins.

descant epic decameter.

intone heroic iamb.

the finding of one's idle self

in cushion cuts of medias res

descant

before lips settle into face

that settles into everyday

the gods in mist move

and the galloping of their dactyls

(riding upon the first faint rays of sunset) is

awesome to behold

in sufficient numbers

old sculptures bleed their copper spangles

in divinest green, divinest

coronet down the lower lid of eye runs

ah hello and hither she

needless lovely world

needless to forevers iced with star bling

infinitely bare of other light

but you

lovely world in your startling beauty

all, all, and all, your chinking glit

full spectrum of my trinket sight lit.