Diana Thoresen

'...in spring, the most delicate feathery yellow of plumes and plumes and plumes and trees and bushes of wattle, as if angels had flown right down out of the softest gold regions of heaven to settle here, in the Australian bush.'
— D. H. Lawrence, Kangaroo

Paraboloid totems of evergreen hope, upside down
...

Love me, love me, I am scared

Turn all warm birds black
And paint all pearly moons red
...

A periwinkle love root talisman is bristling with
Red pepper battle orisons, black pepper war songs
Asherah's wormwood words and valerian sorceries
Rise with Sirius and its blinding vervain rays
...

Flowers are sun yogis with their petals pulsing, glowing, inspiring

Gravitational heartstreams of violet joy light up a mango tree
Against the bluish milky adularescence of frothy clouds
...

Our rose line roots
Reach down into the stars

A nursery of azure seas spilling
...

Unceremonious screeching of black cockatoos
Salutes the honeybee

That feeds the flowers
...

Sri Mahalakshmi herself
Couldn't have granted me
A sweeter boon than a smorgasbord
...

Star of the Sea, dolorous and Byzantine,
throw your royal blue cloak over me,

She who weeps, La Llorona in Kahlo's Casa Azul, paint my heart
...

A radial photon machine

Exploding with the light of a thousand suns
Beyond our sun, a solitary star
...

The palms suppliced
In sunny radiance
Must mock
My cryptocrystalline cloister
...

Scathing like a jeremiad
By Péladan
The red moon laughed at the sea
And the fox-ness of the fox
...

Tall men with machine guns chloroform all thoughts of terror under the luminous tarmac lights
A thirty-hour flight turns one into a numb Cambodian carving
After the curious condiments in business class victuals and
bright cheery pandas past border patrol in Melbourne
...

My solitary Friday nights are something timeless as I slowly tread
A lynx path past the kind oaks in the Winter Palace courtyard
Images long scattered to the winds burn through me
...

Everything is sickness and weakness with Ingmar Bergman.
(Charles Bronson)

In this hamlet, Death is a warm oven:
...

They donned on Aphrodisian
Necklaces and danced
For the wilderness
...

the diamond collarette
is still dripping with
norma, violetta, tosca
...

my obsidian
satyrs -
how many fur-baby
blessings
...

Be it ray or fusiform cells
The celestial harmonica violently
Pushes through every sun-fed
Plant until its initials become
...

His presence is an inextricable maze
Rescue me, blond thing

When both the twilight and the waves
...

Sadly unnoticed by Gustave Flaubert, a wordsmith
Daydreaming of a moon mistress

The phantom awakes within the gilded artifice
...