to you, in lonely grab of air unchurned as yet be taken
pitched, perfect, i’m sorry, i never know what else to give
when i know nothing else to,
and
crumbled of a ball,
un-to stern observer, i,
split as watching animal, caged, lay
cheek to cornered marble, cold, to warm
the blister’d madness
faulted in simplicity
of all thoughts on: you
when every second brings me to knees, brought to buckle, but so true are they, these bent pillars, knowing there will be time to run later, when the world’s done turning and she’s stopped infront of me/to know the world isn’t so alone anymore, but that we can take it, together/that the world isn’t so alone anymore, but that we can run across this land, to fly without a feather/and i’m kneeling here, wondering, is the wander worth a letter, or should i stay?; by the time i make my mind, you’ll surely be anywhere but around these/anywhere but around these weakened walls/anywhere but around this wasted fool/anywhere but around to be around me
above a wielded mace on shelf,
hanging, rests
a sign spell’d
‘liberty’.
play, ye, mongst the
tops o’ trees,
as, free, you be
from they & me.
wash in puddle,
fall of
stream, as
ruffled, clean, you be
much more than they & me.
play, as be you fair
in group of wade
or solitair’, as fam’ly, flocked,
in gust & sea, you be for them
as they for me.
the contrasting sky,
its blue to white
behind the green,
as a bird, wings tight,
arrows by
to be traffic with
the fairies, grey,
as Earthly whisper rolls
amongst us & All.
and, stilled, we follow
as so prone to do.
and, yet, you know not
this poet, he,
who cannot see
but uses words
as imagery,
unseen,
as
wisdom leaves
but markings of what is,
what be.
play, ye, mongst the
tops o’ trees,
as free, you be
from them & me.
wash in puddle,
fall of
stream, as
ruffled, clean, you be
much more than them & me.
play, as you be fair
in group
or solitair’
black
bird shakes,
as feathers twitch
& sway from
movements made
to clean, to
freshen’ be.
of all the times
here, i be, Cardinal,
Red, shows flight
to me, and yet they
be not the only
singer carried/carrying these.
veins, indented, these
valleys, streams,
shadow-crevices
of the body,
fingers–
the knucks,
so use to
use,
but given depth,
the
warmth of nothing,
the cool breath of
stretch.
the ease of which
these eyes
fall to be but
twisted, sided,
lends itself
a serenity of
twicesight
as choice
be ‘lone decision,
left,
but
right..