Maketh You me the sacred...

You
Goddess
How by your blue
Green
Saffron
Pink
You me every moment sink...
And me
Burned sacred like a fire
A red saffron
Be
A burnt filtered molten purified
Gold...

Can You not Goddess
See?
From an insignificant flea-
A fly slipped into a blue deep dye
me dies
Not like what Mansfield thought
As death of a fly
Once...
But as a death
Welcomed
By all saffrony dress
All over the small space...

And
The Boss
Up there
Plays
His drumsticks
Like a march long
To attend the procession
Of Joie...
Everlasting...
Bursting
Within
Like living it the small the big time...

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