imagined spiral staircase climbs up my peripherals
alike to a shadow that darkens as I look away
its metal its wooden and stranger rises
poised to see me
I'm excitable and naive
maintaining focus on a stack of books eyes crossed
stranger ascended and turns with an open mouth
and I redirect eyes uncrossed to
a mere painting and cement wall
with no staircase and no stranger
yet hope and disbelief

Do seedling leaflets oogle
at the leaves to be
or do the sigh since
its growing closer to death
Can they join the distasteful
wind to implant elsewhere
removing their root too
soon to grow into the aching
cohorts unrecognizable from each other
quaking and turning yellow
for it is autumn and the
Mother soon will die
the sick witted flies cackle at the thought
they are destined to one short day
relieved at the lack of decision
they whisper to the leaflets
"**** the life from this world
as quick as you can
your time's being wasted
the more that you plan"

why is the afternoon my lull
and the nighttime my charge
my pillow my shroud
my dearest near cloud
although my nightlight might ****
my morning time push
I thrive as a ghoul, or
a cunning young fish
I swim through the road
a film on my eyes
every new person I flee
each lake I indulge
I dive from the plants
and skirt up the screes
drink up my value
as it gladly will flee
the noise is my shadow
I wish it would stay
but when I look back
it's already gray

my veil stares out the window
whenever it can see
months it has hung
it is pinned purposely uneven
our conversation goes rather well
"the gusts of wind!"
we see eye to eye

the sprawled hedges
with a barber-shop trim
have a lot to say
still they are quiet
except for a stomatal chatter
leaf to sun

you’re getting personal
my eyes are tired
and the light’s always on.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
a hog-tied looking wrinkled hag
has been staring through my window
each morning I wake up twice.
she reminds me of the hog-tied minded
child of divided fences
and sticks and bees
when I stared into her eye
through my shielded blanket.
don’t you know of phantom feelings?
and now that mottled
pale woman has thrashed right through
putting five people aloof
yet sitting on my chest.
you’re able bodied.
scare her away.

His head expelled rancid muck
onto the river bank moss
while I stood there peeking
behind buildings wondering
if the sun has risen.
I’m cursing the wind yet again
but this time its coupled
with sheer rocks that work
to extract blood from my
yellow calluses.
Downstream the fluids combine.
The ripples oxygenate them and
work them like arthropods
billowing towards their first meaning.
With him still face down
I wallow over his body.
Picture his last twitch.
Ponder neurons and
relations to souls.
We’ve only developed thus
far and I want to be
sure this relies solely
on an impacted min
instead of mystical authority.
I don’t want to be invaded.