Will I forget
like the wings
between the trees
Maine, wings of flies
covered in fire,
still so still
a covering up
and bundling away.
to cushion the fall
or for him.
Don’t know the difference
but he would if he saw this
and read it as a question
which it wouldn’t be
the language too fierce,
the moment in my eyes
sizing up consciousness
like a beautiful balloon.
In my realm of zeroing in
there’s the realm and the zero.
Within and inside and inward.
The breath and the belief
and the slightest insanity
of a beautiful, bulging system.
In my realms of the laughter of the sun
who’s committing a grueling improv
otherwise defined as impromptu commitment
sequence of, pattern of, surreptitious
this laughter the setting instance to
and the ritualistic flail-dance for
we exhibit and sit and provocate.
In any realms there’s the taint at the source.
Imagine the clearest streaming gleam
cowering crystalline in the bluest wash.
Light falls over the flagged perfection.
Notifications burden us in our stance and will.
And the touring core, the sizzling heart,
a whisper gently scraped by dutiful reality.
We communicate with tongues of steel and granite.
Primitive engagement with a loss of feeling.
The overwhelming placement of the infinity of cortisol.
It reaches like corruption through the death of legends.
Humorous moments shadow ill-humored momentums.
The spatial glances of hanging pots while I write this.
Hallucinations of crooks and stagnant loss of memory.
This is as inside as insidious a spoken literature
and the glass grows deeper, incessant, torched by dark.
Whether we dream it within the firs and mosses,
or it is a god damn lie, I will still regret it.
The lances required to take us into homeward territory
ache and scream with rouge infection and craned joints.
A knowledge captured by Ponge rests itself in Seattle spring.
The weather colder and extreme and regretful and upright, alive.
Is Taco Tuesday in the midnight of the beard that threatens this table?
Is the threat to this table a justified service otherwise untranslatable?
I’m watching Paul read American Sentences to comatose students.
Kanye tweets about and to creatives
the way serpents hiss and scroll.
Is it Athena’s face here in the Belltown core?
People live their lives here and see it daily.
Liquor tax and I’m reminded again,
yet again, of America’s inability.