Beauty knows the phrase
that swooshes like a vase over a table
in a midsummer's heat of words where
she hopes to know
the difference.
Beauty was told as a child,
"Never be proud,
always be humble"
and Beauty knows the mummy of
a dying act.
Beauty knows the lost slipper
and laughs at the vile, but never
repeats.
Beauty knows execution
with the guillotine hanging straight above.
She sees the aging butterflies of reason and still will not
go.
Beauty knows how to lie as dust,
rumbling beyond the footsteps
of the eternity bomb.
Beauty, the grass player, never knows practice
only the practice
of love;
and what is above
rubies or pearls, but only
as great
as the gardener.

Beauty's tattoo is flaunted mysteriously
in pages of Distorted Intangible.

What beauty knows
is fallen birds, flying whales
mirroring the infinite jewelled cross
stars, roses, clouds,
Accordion-like sounds of nothing


Only questions.