damascus steel and ermine fur

tall smokestacks replicated in Dixie or Louisiana
fuckin kids in the door and telephones falling from laps
cartesian well of crowding
on the basis of looking around
to meet a homelorn biographer or a farm store martyr
the peace pipe to portals abandoned in the sand
well-sodded portcullis unsure of his fame

flapping leather balances muffled coughs
asks for sugar to sip tea
slowpace telegram twittered through speakeasies
sideshow mutton racks douse the fabled mire
regal mousetraps in chimney sweep eyes
caught on the big top selling cigars
firecracker decadence in fender strewn woods
conspiracy sidewalks lack control
root word outcroppings batter the walls
advertised on billboards that cross the drawl
magpie watches the mice crown her king
camera full of pictures falls from the fire

wasteland of opportunity
meditate like pilate
over cannibal clout
icetray trajectories out of the iron garters
put the paper together
to get all the news
pieces of eight woven into a tapestry
with catgut and Kevlar yarn
nomadic tubercular alphabets
women exiled in certainty
blowhard morning earthquakes
dally longer on the threshold of open space

form

the rooknosed sniper alone planes the stone smoothe
leaves curled pebbles on the october floor
braided silver trinkets fall out of the grooves
as the laser-brained serpent falls through the door

blindman's anchor set firm in the woodwork
splintered dress adorns your stationary jaw
that bends to no mesmerising beacon
relieves a broken costume unison
stageshow that holds no consistent draw
beyond your constant misinterpreted smirk

the translator crosses the yellow lawn
on the worn footpath shone clean by the wind
from the sidedoor to the rusted concrete platform
where water is drawn from the tightrope's loose end.

relevant cornerstone

cryogenic waterfall of day's not-yet-light
embraces barely intoned shadows
as i recline on creaking embers of furniture
daisy-eyed pallor or another petal of nostalgia
braces me for what is best know as today
poses for tomorrow through my fevered reverie

my hands are trained to trace the shapes of thought and memory
in a barnburning wakefulness that cant be avoided

patterns in stone behemoths
gain on clarity
the longer i stare at a derailed grid system

chimes outside reckon with clapboard fabric
and resemble another event
that has passed and dissipated
in a camouflage treadmill of recycled wind

the curvature of light: a book that never exists

days have been

days have been.
they drift & wiggle
into being.

days have been.
nights have followed.

days have been.
they drift & wiggle
shift & giggle.
days have been.
night's set in.

days have been.
in quick & slow
fast & low
high up the hill
far down below.

days have wind
to blow ye down.
night makes ye frown.

days have been.
a twining path.
a lurking path.
days have been.
nights have followed.

strangers carry weather maps in their pockets.

strangers carry weather maps in their pockets. drifting geometry of isothermals & such sully the borders. drifting lines of shifting topography of the skies. how wind works. how clouds move. the way weather works. the motion. air currents. like similar maps of currents in oceans or any large body of water.

currents and time play ideas across these pages. maps tell motion. even if weather's mostly a guess.

the notion of the motion of the skies. the whys of air. wind. rain. clouds. answers in the atmosphere.

isobars. directions. ideas. these sustaining winds bring as prizes. long journeys into night air.

these sustaining winds. these moving drafts. curtailing draughts. rafts in time & air.

these sustaining winds prevail throughout the limitless night. these things carry us. brought by wind. took by a gale.

libraries of light: spiral dispensaries of the soul

a book that never existed


libraries of light: spiral dispensaries of the soul