Various Permutations of the Right Hyperprime Poem of the Sun

1:

sometimes I feel like nothing’s left
descants and multitudinous meaningful images pop
an easy exercise for sure
near a haze of tissue in air
the red sun rose

2:

the rum moon sank
away from the clarity of snot on the ground
assuming a difficult slobbery
syncopated and a few meaningless ideas form
I never feel like anything’s right