I arrive at a point
It is elliptical
It is motioning
Many clocks
It is peaceful
And perfectly cold

I am aligned straight as an arrow

It comes like roses full of thunder
It comes like ravens and Van Gogh

It comes
Like
The
Last
Night
Of
The
Earth

I am sending up
My vacant cloud

It stinks
Like a flood
Rushing

Into many birds

I am
Cobra light
And fuming

The yellow leaves
Wink and wave
Their little mouths
Open
To rain
      December 09 2020

The moon, cold and unattainable,
Hangs over the Earth's edge,
Unfaithful in its last light.

In another world
Children hit a tether ball
Around a pole,
Creating a brief, elliptical year,

The weightless, unclarified light of the sun,
Lies like a lover over a lost city,
Westward windows go up in flames.

And here, where the swan revolves in the moon phase,
A black pool invites its cold depth
The night is fixed in motioning stars.
            March 17 2021

Shh- swirl the golden cover art
Naw-its the sound of aluminum foil
Redux- it ain't Lucky Strike cigarettes
Nothing- but the swill of oil
In Lieu-of ten cent bottle return
Except- Oregon and Maine

I am the water,
The second wave of summer,
A tsunami,
A wall of gray wind.
I am night,
Behold! A black sheet of rain.
Hobbled over the bleak and red ants of fire;
Baring a becoup of wild thyme and sage.
And all that exists is terribly near us,
Like you my dark light, my love, my rage.

I am in the aerials,
Where the birds have their burials,
Down among the rushes,
Where the warm blood pulses,
I haunt along the hallow,
Where the river follows,
Weaving through the branches,
I put the birds in trances,
And live among the brambles,
Where the river rambles,
I am the Olden One,
I am the Second Son,
Spread along the stones,
I sleep among the bones,
Down where the mud seeps,
Down where the earth sleeps,
I am the poison arrow,
And I love you to the marrow.

The day flutters like ticker-tape
I smile like Buddha
Unzipping the night
A pocketful of whistles

A dark ceiling of stars.

The needle is threaded
Night wide open
The engine cranks over
A cello of moans.

A tattle of gold
My ways of turning
To ripples of silver, a hush.

Was it you who bring
Red lines of lupus
A world of wheals and whirs.

Through the terminus
Blue walls of morphine
A corridor of trains
A thunder of hosts.

Buzz of blue flies
Slip through the eyelet
Me gluing a matchstick of men.

The days drag behind
Seven hours in a sack
Spilling stars
Through a *****'s blind eye.

Unloosen the screws
The singing of prisoners
The clouds fall away
The snow drips impossible light.

Trundling through shadows
To a lone stone wall
Along a ridge an old Yankee farmer tended 'til he died
Slowly overtaken by time
And the wild bloom of flowers
The stone wall crumbles
Back to the field
Silent as the dry passing wind
Only the sound of a river washing stones whispering
We were never really here.