(“Where Have You Been?”) I Never Left

Rye the western bank
Washes amber-set embankments
Scrubbing ears and eyes as a honey bee does,
Weave clearance with post-impressionist swampland
A few drops of  pollen can be an incredible addition
Bramble bushes blushed dove-like
Quivering candle wax analogies river reveries
Into the night voices flowing
Saturated with glass then sand
Eventually decay and underbrush blooming abundant
With blood poppies, to find beauty in going unnoticed
A whisper of nectar slipping through fingertips
Slithering ever casually amongst crevasses of foliage
Sinking gracefully into the mouth
Roaming without pause or thought,
This small pocket of cimmerian bliss
Remains so obviously in sight

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About A Close Space

It feels
Good to breathe, to sit
Back fall into an embroidered nest of wild
Flowers, periwinkle and dandelion
Sip nectar as if the butterflies in this
Stomach have grown tired of latakia
Bonfires and rye
Sweat lodges, merely a vessel
For the prosperity of these feelings
I am nervous but my,
Exhaling before a field
Of vision entranced in kaleidoscopic
Constellation, this seems just
Right