I've starting speaking
To the walls again--
They tell me everything and nothing.
As I lose echoes decorating
Dander-lions with leaves.

As I walk
On tip-toeing curbs
All their faces are blank.
They are us-- but our feet are
Mangled, bleeding serenity.
To those with hands too large for lifting.

Quick-slivering gardens attune to faultering apples.

She's ghost-bound
Dead,
Counting silent breath
On airwaves--

And oaken elephants--
Weather through
The distillation
Of time-

We're time-travelling
Whispers; nanoseconds
Catching spores,
Spelling--

She's mine-
My only one.

I-am-invisible
Witterings
Passing time
With--
Analogue insects.

It's seven-
-Syllables too quiet
And I twitch--

From teachers on my hand
Open-- close-
Open-- close

Canyons of flesh
Etch pain for remembrance
To the familiarity,

Of skin that dances
To sun-kissed residues.

Sleeping Shroudily
With meadow-blossom
Tethered by the wind.

But frabjous day  
Is counted, in minutes and
seconds.

Made of earthquakes
Catching clouds.