Samadhi-memory raises a

step one,

as Perseus daps Geronimo.

The winglets of his soles

become a horse-drawn cliff.

Worked down to a shadow dance

between trees, their hate of like.

Where shoulder blades for

opposing chins die into distances,

that no apple can return first.

A "Being John Malkovich"

spot check--

like dropping a star from a

highchair.

Black side up.

Stuck to a closeup

that flattens a scene way out

of reach.

While negotiating comfort

on a squeaky recliner, a tiny

rubik's cube solved solidity

in a forgetful pocket.

With its insistent dimensions,

paradoxically driving color

toward isolation.

As if to challenge egoic

alignment, itself a sentimental

unit that was part of a garage's

purgative wave.

Having been mindlessly

salvaged from what survived.

Nervously pawed & identified

by a poet who was contemplating

the nature of hatred.

The real thing, the sort emotion

doesn't know what to do with.

Just as a tiny rubik's cube was

rediscovered in a forgotten pocket,

arrogantly insinuating.

Hereby charmed & burdened

with hatred.

Let it house & astonish hatred with

the speed of off-color assemblage.

I front my dust, to taste the rosy

cud of lightning's fever dream.

As a vine strikes out against a wall,

the whole of wind is removed from

the mouth of silence.

While bodies of water gloss over

the passing of fish, who become

tense.

When flesh is left on bodies to

indicate taken seats, the same seats

light gives up.

To a garden gate drunk on its hinge--

that gathers a garden like: here today.

Where midnight makes up for lost time,

to meet you as someone known

completely.

Followed by savage denial of the fact.

It can be utterly

gut wrenching to watch

how the inside joke

shared with those closest

to you relates to the

world.

Knowing what you hope

you know of them, as they

feel for cold footing.