thread hangs dewy bright
oxidized aluminium contrasts
grey glassy grey

crumpled in doorway a song
through whiskers licked
yellow and smoke flecked
black ash.

notes
float
coats the space
between a boy
silver bits
(remnants of magic cards move
moving Mother)
from pocket to pocket

"silver linings, eh "

scaffolding reached a little higher
and somehow mucus trails
had a musical movement

oceans churn the sky

dragging

latent

potent

tainted toxic

down as cold water

dense particles slugged on salt

stagger the mill up to **** on

radiance and radical upset

in gardens touched softly

in gardens washed away

in gardens a draw to clay to rock

until fissures filter feed the spring

candle flicks orange
selflessly spits
and pop: pale pips

when

juice trapped in petroleum
wax hits heat and fires to
make mists in light

a cotton thread

( points vapours )

stutter the
dark:
yellow

the lights lets me see

fractions of tar smell
sweetly pink in the
Valor heater.
pressed from thin metal
a bomb
damped by ribbon squab

(broad vapours)

starve the
cold:
red air

all weaves shrink as the
smoke, a fake evaporate,
journey's to the clouds

Time is a mighty conqueror
who leave scars of his reign.
As we perch in his kingdom,
he gives us the free gifts of old age.
Even if he carves you wrinkles,
Never let him wrinkle your Heart....

Our road trip memories align
as we pass a Farmall tractor,
fire engine red and rooted
roadside in a field of alfalfa,
a relic washed by cloudburst,
a workhorse dried in sunshine,
arrested air stack,
rusted crank case,
supple spider webs
in chaste wheel wells—
immutable old machine
somehow extinguishing
in the reflected acreage
of the rear view mirror.

In the darkness
I hold the trickle of your whisper
like a falling feather

feel the contralto tick
of a heartbeat
skin against skin

holding each other
as if flowers
delicate in the breeze

tumbling through
a carmine flush
of desire

Stars of tragedy.
Stories of their untimely demise
Told soberly in newsprint.

Stretching from Africa to Mexico,
Victims of natural disasters, crime,
And of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

What was here is lost.
What was warm is forever gone.
These envelopes that remain can be stamped with anyone’s address.

In the end, it’s all the same
Dust
That settles in the melting ***:

Empty shells littering beaches,
Dried-out husks,
Vacant houses.