Eve is walking up some stairs,
he imagines falling off,
and then part of himself does.

from then on he can’t tell
whether he’s at
the top or the bottom
or the bottom or the top

“where is my head?” down there
“where is my child?” nowhere
he carried him like she carries him

black hair. blue eyes. tan skin.
different but the same.
Eve turns the corner and takes another step
upwards.

a dissociated sound hums in awkward disharmony
it pleases, presently, not an ear
but nurtures mossy growth across guts of a population
who listen with cult-like enlightenment

when the bass descended with modest fanfare of plucked and buzzing strings
it announced the departure of the invisible figure
that lived where we thought we wanted to be

so long, ruler. it was your time
you had a meaningful life.
now i just want to be alone

Pan whispered something in my ear
a secret mumbling i couldn’t understand

maybe a message of love or hate. couldn’t imagine anything else

sometimes it’s hard for us to talk out loud
things we want to say but keep inside
a desire to share but not offend

mumbling whispers might just be
the best compromise we have

and why would it?

expecting something from chaos
knelt on knees, as if words formed silently upon wishful lips
will create the world for you tomorrow

lives are spent
on absolutely nothing
all the time

a pause, rested against the mill hopper
behind the glass of an eye

these empty mornings
climb through a mindful shell- as passes a gust by bare branch

distant looming giants wade freely tantamount to possibilities
in the house of both existence and not
they flow before us like gods

the raised lakes of Beijing
are fitted with the finest glass walls
parents go there to unload their unwanted children
the squids of the lakes grab hold of the children,
          hug them
                    adopt them
                          teach them to breathe
people walk by, pay no attention
but the glass walls are built tall
            wiped clear
to the point where i can’t help but to notice.
the orange plumed tentacles
grown straight from the children’s backs
          pulsing like a flame
                  like a phoenix
                         like a poppy’s bloom
smeared by the color of the water’s haze
or the tourist’s awe-shot eyes.

i open my windows in October
when i sleep

i am alone

still candle flame through frosted stone

a warm milky glow
& cool crystalline air

these things weave me together