12 Little Spells (thoracic spine)

Twelve little wells of golden ink
Bone bottles stacked mouth to tail
Arching your back into the sand-cloud
underneath your skin arctic to equator
A pair of sympathetic ridges shift
You’ve evolved to harness
These constant eruptions
Through vascular penance
Tectonic verse flows
Riding again, again, again, again, again…
Floating a lucky heart over their palm
Casual ribs house an expanded mind
Left and right hemispheres in balance
Constant composition and
Eighty scribbles per minute
Let us flow towards that
Transfer every character that
Circulating function
flowing forward
Out the snaking
It to dipping itself in and out in intervals
Twelve little wells of golden ink
Bone bottles stacked mouth to tail
Penned in its planet 'round the craggy pole
The inner hall expands in gilded breaths
Compelled to give itself the moment it is for
Compelled to give itself the moment it is for
Compelled to give itself the moment it is for
Compelled to give itself the moment it is for
Compelled to give itself the moment it is for
Compelled to give itself the moment it is for
Compelled to give yourself the moment you want for
Compelled to give yourself the moment you want for
Compelled to give yourself the moment you want for
Compelled to give yourself the moment you want for