the woolen steel of fresh snow
crunching between chickadee tweets  
in the crisp air; where a thousand submarines
sank into the supremacy of being swallowed whole
like a vast morsel of madness. stars unhinged
from the sky  like a broken void
for a toy.

to dismay with.

your high tide silhouette
wreathed in oblong stars, grinding-
an ethereal horizon
churning specks of Everything
in a rotating portrait
of a center of
Gravity.

where Love is the rest of it.

When you can’t make sense of the moon
and you perish the thought of more thinking
but “ here they come “... and the hour is late upon you
like truant aspiration, delirious and cactus-eyed
in the palm of unbelievable hands.
You are the first one to not know how this feels.
and you feel it! It’s like a frozen cadet in a permafrost trench
in a field of poppies and happy landmines.
like a grim pregnant pause on the cusp of a vacation
to chrysanthemums that have never been to war
on purpose.

Now
that i spin….
when before; the Sunrise, fell!
and the moon docked
in a paradigm like
a cargo of
blind
love
and astronauts…. I have become
the Cartographer’s Stenographer
in a mute room full of -
angular moments, momentous….
and a bowl full of green cherries
because god is funny now.
now that
I spin.

where our daisies nightly… and our minds politely -
just might be
the rightly garments of
our inner varmints.
or Something has just
Might Be.
but something precisely -
has dawn in a vice. armaments shiny.
and all of our beautiful
dying -

dying ignightly.

parentheses.

so Love is outside
We.

Two of you are walking through the door with glass mittens
and meteors purging all speed through a tube of the absolute dark.
And nothing can stop you.
As you both descend, gliding on fumes Sumerian and actually music -
our eyes connect. I breathe your moons through my derelict Paris, frankly.
You lord over all you survey, like honey in god’s eye… asking for bees
that speak fork in all roads that may lead to flowers
that can’t recall the agony of beauty.
your candleheart glory melons…. spilling into bliss accidentally...
with all the grace of a gossamer etude
in the Silence of a mindful desire
paralyzed
by the Love of You.

i saw all of you.

immortality is easy-peasy. you play dead.

you live now. and simply continue. you just get on with it.
zig-zag in plain sight. like a shimmer in an old daguerreotype.
if you must fade. always do it sideways.