Untitled no. 9

Stand front the words wall

Crack a pick, lip shapes chisel

Turns to drop his tool

Sand

Green riptide calmly flow

Sine wave breezes

and the hairs and clumps hung

from wooden lightning shimmer

Frequencies so short like lasers

beam in to the air waves and see

how deep is this blue?

Pleasantly empty you trudge

For the days are one and the new

next now not near approaches and

with his face distant he inches

through a portal of the desert he walk

Finally with mind vacuous yet oozing

a melted sand through your hands

Orange and yellow blinds you so

eyes shut to see everything more

Nature Memoir V

 Two contrails. White slow motion comets. Looking up at the inverted ocean to see those drag racers' wake like the most distant scratches on a metal. And opposite, the moon. Palest crescent. This sickle-shaped tear much like the bead of rain on God's window. Unperturbed, the sun. Yet when obscured by the roof's edge its brightness you can gaze directly upon, only within a shadow. Only within a shadow do you look at, can look at, the brightest object. Yet otherwise its reach is from your tiny eyes an infinite span. Somewhere very far away, this light disappears over the horizon. The same light that penetrates the air yielding most crisp shadows under it is weak and fading elsewhere. We two look at the same sun, same light, yet different. How the very scale of the Great Curve moves.

Distractor

Forbade herself from the questions

Distrust particular judgments

And swim Carefully

Just to keep doors cracked

I applaud her, lip tape shuts

Visible stains from my mouth

Itch her mind and yet

Sound pleasant to hush

Starve. Beautiful famines cradling

Your frame, your letters, distance

Blame this greatest furthest stretch

On and on, only wait more

Whip

O how it seeks to repent by

Having mind wrung and

clutched tight o'er his scalding fingers

and illen astringent words

in what unrequited fury loves

Roots upheaved by language spade

uncover'd trinkets and keepsakes

Best not to be uttered or spoken 'cept

"Thine own little amusements"

Clenched too far with his eyes

Probe not, dear friend

For sewn tight your lips shall comfort

and pace backwards as foreseen

Take your contrition to a shape

Of something, like Great Omens

Nature Memoir IV

 How is it, that the sun is bright and you see hard shadows cast from everything under it, yet you cannot see the blue of the sky anywhere? The haze over the clouds is so thin it hide the blue behind, but is just thin enough the light penetrates as though it weren't there.

It's a marble colored sheet, that haze. The clouds are still prominent enough with defined edges and billows, yet they fade into the haze so smoothly. Gray upon gray. A monochrome that looks like it is from a distant memory. Cloudy and sunny and overcast all simultaneous.

The wind is heavy and you can visibly see it push and shift clouds like the breath of God. So distant do the birds fly. The furthest you have ever seen. They are like flakes of pepper up there, tiny black pinpricks, poppy seeds, specks. Black angels. Silhouettes of black angels drifting. So free. Beyond them, a plane. The man-made metal bird. It too soars, vanishes. If only you could be there. If only...

Echo

 O how no tears flow

In your arid hot soul

But they are made of wind

How calm winds pour from your sockets

Orbit orbit swim and dive

Around your hovered light

Sick from voices and eyes

But let platinum erode you soft

Smile only for that blessing

And even if not a muscle moved

Your ends are flowing in the sun

Beauty shine in blackest woods

Ego dim in whitest grass

Any color but gray

And place but in

Just to smile and whittle

Out under infinite

Heaven Black

 And the breath that ooze

From pale dim earthen fur

How such tears fall from the

Frozen smoke suspended high

What beauty made and

Fabricated out your tender fingers

Craft such tiny leaves

And throw them down on lilies

Pick a darkest furthest place

And see a familiar stranger

Embrace this cradling black

To find heaven in oblivion

And fall back down

Down in Heaven Black

Sun Poisoning

A statue of this man

Tiny little organism

Baked, frozen, mute

And how sun poisons his flesh

Comfortably washed by ions

Slowly destroying his skin with

Tender embraces and flecks of

None but radiating spherical luminosity

Let my statues, my outs

To receive my daily sun poisoning

Let them be

A little less lonely

yeah ok sure buddy