nothing special, this way comes. only the tedium of adequate days
where the light is enough to call nightfall “ the dark, white meat of an eclipse “
while stars are the implausible sirens of a quiet.
or a “hum” without lips.
we attempt to infuse our wayward epiphanies
with a veneer. never a deep stain for our shallow ponds.
only the very best things for a reckoning
to stumble upon.

and sleep through.

we hoard our moons where our perishables can sing softly
as the entire world forgets how to hold a note-
accountable. we resound in a vacuum
of Unrequited Introspection.
we see the Other as Ourselves-
but come undone
for giving a
**** to
salvation-

on a platter.

there are smug villains in my oatmeal-
and ravenous enclaves of my useless toys.
i have Islands to speak too.
but not a one to call Land.
just a clump of implausible retreats
in a war on my perfect
vacation.

a hole in a fork
like a howl
in a mirror.

always.

without gills, we breathe on the moon.
the humble tortoise has a house and our theories
are quaint. we have all the havoc of time
in an opulent balloon.
an unusual as usual, floating in open wounds
where the worlds on fire are the frozen ones
and all the Islands of our apostrophe
all pause the revelation
as quickly as you
Like.

summer in a spoon is all the cheap heat of our medallions
suckling the ambivalent inferno  of our ice age
spooling an endless wrinkle of our entire folly on a plinth
‘neath a pillar of vaporous Dawn!
Empirial in aspect,... but as fleeting as the miracle.
concave sparks are the Eldar Sign of our implicit medieval chicaneries.
all is the storm of an imperfect thing gasping for black holes-
at the senior prom. the corsage of our immortal souls
adorning the brevity of Life Itself.
we continue in this way
for no reason
with a hat.

i wanna get into
living loudly.
into saying something-
for once-
at the very least
twice.
i wanna get into
killing boredom
with a blind rage
and X-Ray
eyes
and  a heart
at the heart
of an open
mind.