How Every Angle Blends Together

Water shook the setting sun, the red glare thoughtful, gazing...
Through atmosphere the edge of the circle burst outward
Hiding another world beneath plasma burn where other planes
Shape reality's hum.

Lilacs and marsh heather stalled their growth
Waiting for the sky to dissolve
Or the earth to evolve,
But the edge of the circle held, and
Every etch of the fractal arc
A seagull's quark stretching a thread
That remembered the sea.

The trees locked by ice held their ground
And with each rock sang their tune of you,
Irradiating us closer to our fears
Which radios broadcast in the thousand colors
We stole to paint a bird.

We cried when we realized the paint could
Never capture the path, the love
That all the threads of the sea brought to us,
And we laughed when we saw something there
That had painted itself--
A fool of a king to rule our realms--
The thieves we were were changed,
The delicate interplay of all the pieces clickbuzzing the shift...

At night they slept, ringed by the resolve
Found when seeking with head and heart;
Each ancient dream surged--
Still lives--waiting at that red arc's edge,
Though books and the eyes of history
Focus more on the salt
Marshes devoured when they were young.

And every spring it rains grey in the mountains in Nepal
Filling the cataracts like life in monasteries,
The water washing everything, the setting sun,
And shining us with the depth of never going alone.

the last pot roast on earth

for Drook

on the very last friday of the very last calendar
someone scribbled a skull and cross bones

and we recycled all the old diet ginger ale cans
fashioned them into a sail that captures dirty molecules

*
for Katy

local december fridays colder than febuary that year
those slowed moments sat at the table, a pen and paper

the computer generated aliens looked ridiculous,
but pot roast in the made for tv movie beckoned.

while land race gamma rays ate up the stars
the final birds sang laughing at magic eye views,

I remember burning every book we'd read to keep warm,
and how we sailed on feeling guilty for finding the way out

Why Wait?

damage drives hunger
up and down the coasts of fear;
the south still has plans...

Sunder Kin

turning skies to head
the way mountains cover death,
time to let it count.

Non-Game

healthy detatchment met its match
today under a static sky,

the man with tv for a head and
metropolis arms showed no mercy

no witness was there for the skyscraper attack
and weak radio defense, writing it down like a script.

the blade was concrete, quicksand, and house parts
and healthy detatchment's head rolled all the way to Hollywood.

I sent flowers to the hospital,
but they were the kind that still had roots.

Line One

Sometimes the deepest
meaning is no meaning
in flat land.

Bee Tree (six strip)

The Bees Are Coming

So many efforts taken, the only imprints a love poem reduced to "gone," and a pineapple for the world's proper welcome. The catch-22 was that the strength and clear forceful resolve exhibited in leaving was more than the underlying shadow of growth to come--it was one thing that could break the reinforced icons of little minds....(the other thing*

The Other Thing

An accident, no one else around, adrenaline mother, I saw no one in one car, airbag deployed and the other was a medium sized truck too high off the ground to see into. I slowed down as I passed and immediately called Emergency but was kindly informed that it had already been discovered...I continued journeyways past the cold tree and reflected the damage reflector*

Damage Reflector

It's all in the trees of the seeds who never hatch--
I came to get my things
I was unprepared, resentful
(regretful immediately)
I saw a flash, gathered my things
the light came on, I gasped but
was
not noticed...
lucky*

Lucky

Adrenaline mother why near you did I accept death, an imprint of so many things?
an imprint of time and circumstance
an imprint of the world, an imprint of atoms
an imprint of fate--
scars
and "it was not supposed to be this way,"
and this is not the path
the broader space, simultaneous--
a map
and whatever else was there (or who)*

There (Or Who)

Why did I accept death's fear...?
His cloak stretches, and
stretches
goes deeper
into a shape we cannot quite wrap our minds around...
whatever else comes next
is next*

Next

At least Jasmine came for the goodbye,
The best way about it all really.
I didn't touch her, I just blinked a few times and left, quietly
I've moved and those weak remnant-imprints were stitched to become more relevant to my character
I left your hat and your keys,
a pineapple-tree and the word "gone" saved to your hard disk where I had to kill
something meaningful.
I came to get my things
and quietly was the best way
for me to forgive myself...
because
the bees are coming*