My transient echo
Seething with energy some
Or none or any at all
Except the one
Quanta that renders
Me real and
Not.

Thousands of blooms
Pocked their bulbs, and
Leased heady perfumes into the vast sky

Purifying, and clinging amidst
The vapor of dawn

Saccahrine effusion descended
In co-mingled currents

Wafting in gentle benefaction
At your subtle passing

You could no longer afford
Your resting place
Liberation enveloped your form,
And you padded amidst
The perfume
Cloud stepping upon
Cloud

You’ve discovered that the forces of gravity are enormous
But to explain why they are not, physicists needed a new theory
A new vision of the atom
Constant overlapping and splitting through time
Transactional existence
What might have been an abstraction
Remains a perpetual possibility

We mistrust everything
Now - I understand
In that time

There is no fear
No indrawn breath

Only clarity
And the result of actions

Mind is without borders
Skin is no defense against a
Breath’s space

Film developer cacophonies, and journalistic hoarding
My friends wanted to record our last year –
Accurately – not succinctly
Abstractly – and yet, directly, bluntly
Vividly – in photography, quote notebooks, Dictaphone diatribes

That’s hilarious – scribble it down.
Can you repeat your brilliance?
If you could paraphrase that – well…what would you say?
Take another one. She wasn’t smiling.

I don’t want to smile.

My friend sidles up beside me – beaming grin
Sticking her fingers into my mouth
Pulling opposite and up
And her fingers tasted like
The musty pages of books without pictures.

He wraps his legs about the tree branches
Clinging calf ‘neath trunk split – **** above
Other foot braced gainst another split
Back primed –
Finger adroit – hovers – collecting binary blips
Bead hoarding collars
01-
Flamingo flanked yards, floats, eyewear
01-
Men flash their *******
01-
01-
Bead imprints slamming ****** wounds into existence
01-
Scrambling to hoard plastic objects proudly
01-
For five seconds.

Island in gathered
Lavender sheets
Lilliputian dregs congeal
- Missed shots in the dark

Slack-mouth “no”
Echoes in peeling paint

Globules of restrained ***
Hollow my form

I touch my own lips
Not consenting to their last
Tryst.

Marlboro reds cling to
Salivary memory
Turning in my tongue –
Tucked along the
Cusp of my teeth

Pressing
Trying to expel the taste
I spit

Flecks spatter amidst
His-release…