a hilltop bore its **** to locals, where
they come from flat to: "that".
confronted by vantage, familiar as their
own physique.
their feedback loop of disconnected
realities, locked in its grasses.
the signage of a leaf, connoting nyc parks,
Sheriff of Nottingham's badge.
produced before peripatetic schools of
philosophy.
sunset's prolusion to hypnotic suggestion,
took effect.
as if an infant walked more ***** than
royalty to his bedroom door.
opened it a crack, then quarter way.
where light of mind/sunlight/bedroom light,
assumed the quality of that early rising at
sunset.

at the very least, another life can be

eked out--by what goes unnoticed in

any given day.

a thing will always change with the

perceiver, even color is colored.

the sheer overawing & unquantifiable

detail is as matter-of-fact as imagination

itself.

begin & end anywhere you choose--

even though there's no beginning or

ending to the interactiveness.

light rinses her hair on a taxidermic
dove, sat like wooden wavicles on a
shadow planet.
persued by a scented black candle that
smells of unfillable holes.
as a woman prospects a circumference,
tells herself she came for the music--
not the food.
an angel born of mistaken identity,
walks through the blueprint of a garden--
& is told: 'you didn't touch a thing.'
as with the involution of ears, spirals
whistle like rope thru snake skin.
an evil repellent of sorts, or a courtesy
to superstition.

cold *** stews dumped from

tenanted clouds, on spasming tar.

dank breath breathes all over

glitchy raindrops--why i wear

cement shoes to ween off of

puddles.

as a black cat's wet fur effuses

the crunch of fish bones.

its Louis Wain aura hits me with

the engrossment of movies lost

in movies.

we're waiting for confirmation:
something has happened, its movement
already went thru what braces for it.
spun hands over praying mouths--
a finished dark pushed all the way back
& then some, held up to itself.
where a treeline fills in its watchful deepening, as it's pulled downward.
ankle-high smoke comes out with the
audacity of ****, ripped away from
starving fire.
a drawf rolls out of a playing card, to
measure dimensions.
wearing a jester's hat with no bells--
his field of vision gadging his height,
interlocks with curious fear.
tracing around the wickedness that was
recently there.
wind up hares ***** up their ears & fall
on their sides.

the tongue's stethoscopic clacks
in ears, tug at the throat &
against teeth.
not a word.
a rusty lighter's pried scratch--
too thick to spark.
no wind, coincidentally.
still--there is consciousness.
the flight patterns of micro details
touchdown on different but
functional timezones, all in a patch
of pavement.
cars pass & the body remains
unbroken.
the ratio of tinted windows seen
thru, is in simpatico with the end
of a day.
though the edge of the world
plummates along--i hang back &
stroke a jade lion's tail.

the omni-plumage of the

earth's curvature, is sculpted by

a constant unturning.

which sunbeams pass through--

to stall in perforated mountains.

as if taking tissue samples of gods.