Paradise Diatribe

Noon Sung Son Sings

I was in the patio 
under the Sun's soliloquy
trying to focus 
on the haunt
   of heat
on skin, 
an
   effort to recall 
   uniqueness
(or
    forceful forget
    of indifference?)
Diatribelly positioned
at the liminal post 
of human pelt
to discern 
whether
perception pure
accrues virtue 
sufficient
to persist 
after 
          the 
buoyant 
            dispersal
of 
        the     
          
 skin

 and 
 the nether kin 

        under  
       its 
          veil

Under the noon 
  Summer Sun
a shadow butterfly
     dissolves
in 
            flower 
                            shades

  Adamic
  naming 
  of Paradise,
had he known it 
as inventory of lack
or,
ere Noah,
life's ark,
would Paradise
that can be lost
not be flood?

In the tiles
a squirming ant,
maybe maimed,
rolled back and forth
             from the  
                 Pain
                   of   
the      hyper-heated      surface 
               

Toil supreme
is to appreciate
the Sun,
integument of death,
once lost
Paradise is Perfect.