Of Date Trees & Sea Salt

A friend of mind challenged me to put my spin on something that could be considered literary nonsense. This is the result I suppose.

Billowing beneath in the tiny crevices of brick
worms cultivate the silk she carries around her waist
from city to city, rancid meat strapped to the ankles
amongst the lily blossoms and frogsbreath forgotten
behind the oak trees, she drains the blood from the sacks, out bleeds yellow
over tar of a well broadcasted past
the doves circle her head trying to spin a future out of the dead soil
droplets make the marsh fertile
subdued as that carbon spreads through the volumes of bile that rot each passing tree
skies scream the hearth of barren bright light as the silicone paints out copper stained designs
out into the garden so clearly sits he, majesty, the crow
and no one knows what knows this old crow
flapping highly and grand thus wings beat out the sun
king of the stage
objectifying the vices we desire
inot the heat of the day,sins thrown into the unboggy mire
lay waves of the dead
gestating in the resurgence
reemerging from the remnants of her acidic tar
passes the crow upon the perch of a date tree facing north
stone is the lock of the cumbersome eyes; pools of the wretched sane
sadness he thinks
she particular dost thou deranged
thine townfolk canter the merry
doth position upon bosom heavy
drops her hand in the sea
corrosive are the salts near rudimentary
infests her life with the pain of a breath against her neck
and she forces the hand to stay
pungent becomes the sickly sweet
flesh shedding into the sea
the second hand doth fall
the crow squawks yet makes no sound 
he knows she can sense as he contorts the ground to cradle her fraility
it heaves and surrounds, protects but cannot hold her still
but she has lifted out of its wealth
pristine, clean, brittle
she is deranged for his entertainment
abolishing this temple has been their connective tissue
leaning over the poison
she leaps
he buckles, swoops
she feels the curse of an old blood release
the calm is coming
the quiet, the peace
she lands without feet
cool caressing the air abound
no salt, no sea
just climitized without the trees
she opens her eyes
feels the like prick of a new sea
staring back into the wicked colors 
of a summer honey bee's sting.......