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Derelict attune descending off a cliff. Towering towards the skies. Limitless void. Loft signal. Ink on a stoop. After the passage is done. Look into it and see the light. Ripe season. Minx. Sugar hill dragon foot. Blink where you are at. Is where I want to be. Let’s call it what it is. A bicep. A bestowed upon. Rock on a tombstone wreck.
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It’s a rumble of sorts. Diminishing as it might be. To bask in the moonlight. Release of the melody. Trudge through the mud of philosophy. It encapsulates every being. It takes a hold of me. Releasing its seed and letting the ruins of trepidation run wild. Look ahead of what you are. It is a church of leisure. The breast that feeds you. Lends its ear to the ground. I smack myself in the dark. Only to find you there, staring at me intently. Leave me behind.
Nov 18, 2024
I buried- in silence -in the back yard -a thing in the night -deer trodding behind the tree line airplane light rolling down the cheek of the dome- it had to be done alone no matter how many times you asked what was growing here I couldn’t speak its name- and you couldn’t hold the reigns of a certainty that is not yours to keep -here is my mind, the living, the executor, the backdoor frightened child staring off wandering for the holder -here is the order of the sphinx, the cataloged diagnosis of the ordinary wheel -here is the lackadaisical assistances that you ordered: “bury the hatchet that dug the hole. take the sword of your desires and throw it at the heap. there is a lump forming that must be seared. the stitches to be unraveled are trying to leach into the skin from which they are formed. you must open the earth or be dissolved yourself”
Feb 25, 2025
