Three Masses From Afar

Ember rest
Again
Reset when

Twilight falls upon this vermillion-
Washed lakeland feel at home feel
At home here laughter like
Landscapes puncturing aqueous mirrors;

Islands unexplored in true measure

Incendiaries seen incendiaries
Felt beating
Away at tree trunks add
Another ring another year tied to finger left of center

Aluminum cans popped
Open fizzling, silently we roar,

Silently we all roar

Tamping gravel to dirt,
Memory to stone

Which of us will bear
The brightest constellation?
Carry the boulder-blasted torch songs
Towards empyreal horizon?

All dancing
All dancing
Trances set
To still-life in motion,

Cricket orchestras illuminated as if
Actually fireflies

Smoke,
A burn
Smoldering supple
And endearing

As We Are Simply Scar Tissue

Bruises shaded deep
Berry blue, flax vermilion and setting-sangria-washed-aglow
Imprinted upon bare-feet walking
Cautiously then erratic
To catch a frisbee or for just,
The joy of moving faster through space
Gliding like a swallow swift
Through softened saccharine air
Swooping gracefully
Grass bearing weight graciously upon returning to Earth

Battered soles of joy bring forth a topography map
And in an instant of rest
Wandering cognizance dives forward
Returning to pockmark lakes
Sibylline breath in colour
Seeing saturation succumb to form,
With two raspy hands on speculum shoals
Pine needles drifting sweetly so, a scroll written
A diary entry to a body ever shifting
Remember, for it’s best that I disappear for now

Blinded by wanderlust
Where else are we to go but deeper?
Unwrap the bow-tied gift of injury
Allow ourselves to feel and bleed beneath
Truest incendiaries

Sharing laughs and lack of oxygen
Looking at
The collateral each person
Seeing their own vision
Of a past kept underneath ruptured skin
What is suffering if not a kaleidoscope of memory?

A Brief Visitation

Under an eave between house and wood shed
It rains seas of gray and weariness and I
Alone captivated in a field of tobacco smoke,
Watch the wet persistent birds
With their damp persistent wings
Fly back and forth,
From canopy to feeder
Gorging themselves on sunflower seeds,

Fruit fumed slowly with hickory permeates
Bringing back summers now spent,
Past purchases where the sun
Was nothing but an ambient metronome
Ticking in rhythm to the beats of adolescent fervency,
Oh, sear seen afternoons where rivers clung optimistically
To bedrock and the birds serenely dry sung
Illimitable hymnals and the young sang along
Knowing exactly the melody

There is a flash of lightning
An expansion of air,
Feathers flutter instantly
An unnoticed second heaven makes an appearance
Only to vanish with company
But persistent as always
Wings of sangria and pecan shortly after
Return and gorge
Stuck maybe in a world far from my own

To Identify Time of Death

Mostly diluted
Ever so
A tad bit acidic
I was given a chance to feel
Instead I got intoxicated,

Left knowing but distant
Always unable to conceal intention
Drowning in vegetative stories
Remember when?

Loss is a virtue often experienced
Yet so rarely noticed-
Does nature understand
That I feel death as ferns in freezing weather?
As blissful white clouds floating
Such that heaven seems earth-bound?

A shoulder to breathe
Sober up nestle nude against cedar tree trunk
Ever so fleeting
It makes sense doesn’t it?
It is absence that becomes the burden
The memory that provides relief
And this body of mine
Is nothing but never present,
Stuck turning rich nectar
Into watered-down interpretations of flowers
In bloom, delaying impact inevitably
A world concocted with jaded connotations

Life has been made
Continues to exist
Going to cities and learning to keep secrets,
People have spoken to this face of mine
Loves lost and renewed
Though a daydream it seems

Waiting to wake up
Upon the snap of two brittle fingers
Will I remember the past four years?

Maybe Hope or A Huge

The trees

If you turned the lights off
Let night saturate atmosphere as embers of
A once roaring fire now smolder beneath
A blanket of ash glowing just so softly,
It might look like a bustling city,
From a few miles away,
Grasping at silhouettes of oaken statues
Reaching for a familiar hand
The space between main street and this palpating heart
Has grown so distant
I tell my heart to slow down
Driving back home to where lights
Shine a different context,
Not to get excited
A memory once sung has buried itself
Once providing strength
Now wormholes long and hollow
Leave me fragile and petty
Not to get excited,
The lake has evaporated the fire
So going 55 seems more a punishment than celebration,
Not going to the infant incandescence
The pyre waits as debt and birthdays fill empty space
After all
What burns better than dead devotion?
Eyes lock to the sky as we get closer
Pretending for a little while longer
That the memory of being alive is tangible
And my heart beats fast
And the city climbs atop the statues
Glowing just so softly
And something’s waiting for me

Restitution

On the hem of a river
Behind the glowing lights
Of a ‘54 Bel Air dashboard
The constellations glisten
With barn owls and reclaimed wood,
Rusted to earth
The ferns have replaced frantic minors
Staring faceless into their hands
Drinking the stagnant sips
Of watered down whiskey
Hiding beneath the backseat,
Silhouettes project
Themselves over skin
Almost a match,
A body between
Memory and transitioning
A feather falling
Believing itself to be a leaf,
The car doesn’t move
Yet we are stricken motion sickness

Sediment In A Wine Bottle

Estate sale personified
As swigs of sand dwindling through
Kaleidoscope irises, slipping sunsets into palms cut
Acting in assumption that such wounds
Close, fade and then ambiguous definitions of normalcy
Can be resumed again
Acting in assumption such pain halts
And forgives the body it accumulates,
Clothes become too big
Fabric promised protection
Sworn, left unnoticed
Dedicated life to living beneath stale socks almost
Visible but kept dark and almost given a chance,
Embraced auctions for relinquishing redemption
Based offers observed pretended to be valuable,
Feign colour polarity
Pallet set
Sleep on hoping prosperity flourish
And wither slip into an unintentional hibernation
Waiting for-but wake up it’s time to move on
Waiting for-but wake up
Quoted as in decline
Liquidate property as hospital visits