Chop Hue

Cut the chord
into its constituent
rhymes. Each
alone fills the
glaciated pleasant,
a frozen sun reset,
in which the oranges
purple up to the point
of exploding the teardrops
contained in the slices
of the hours that lead 
to this foment, this
lamentation, this
combobulation,
foisted and joisted,
musical hoofbeats
to pave the road
as we walk.