Dead Building

Element all been in
It
Passing by to all ready
Gone
Over with the birth marked
Brown
From that one angry sun
Hay wire climbing through translucent barns
Faceted
With the half glass half soap
Of one sea once unclean
Un roped, let loose
Hand some with out the tie
leash snapped
two parts fix ate it claimed the break its own
hand tied un relinquished
a structure unburdened by structure
permeable but under stood

kball

http://brooklynkickball.com/IMG/TEAMS/061707/XR5T009172_1.jpg

Definitive for a 360° point
(a spherical eye)
engrossed absorbing
(a black hole of perception)
allowing nothing out
(grabbing mercifullesly)
unconditionally poignant in observation of variations:
stems facing upwards
mechanic pillars breaking sky
shrouded airy remnants of twelve billion hands
(reaping worth to them
in the spiral of
asserting value
with a body made mind)

Memory envelopes comparison
keeps contrast warm while growing bodies:
bulbous empires unscathed through
endless kinesis
(an intangible corridor both blind and black)
overloaded with possibilities
(color begging for witnesses
to see the variation
let individuality reign as a thing amongst things,
a heap)

nit grit shit

Press

Sri Lanka
Sarajevo
On the front porch
J.R.R. Tolken
hanging on to shelves
hugging sacrificial wood
in hopes of survival
recording the lack of water
manipulated for beauty
in dendritic patterns resurfacing
at the worshipping
of heat

Continuous Narrative (one and many)

Elizabeth is dead
is the first thing
I ever wrote on a wall
I was five
it is not the last time
I wrote on a wall

Vowel covered bedrooms
wrapped in newsprint
retelling the same stories
again with a change
a relevant ripple acting out
the tidal wave
covering cities in a blanket
thread in oxygen.

Gradually the end overflowed
Poured out along wood floors
Sought cracks amongst tiles
individually placed by hands
speaking to eyes

Putting out the fire
Inhaling trials of smoke
Tasting the lack of tomorrow
already replaced
by the return

Tasting the gain of tomorrow
Spread on top of scales
Bowing down to gravity’s pull
inside

Conscious going again
to the same house
abandoned on a street
adopted by trees
sleepy at the sound of a highway
Constantly copying the words of wind

To the same steps
a red carpet
leading up to brick


Walking through Walls

Wanting and not wanting

Oscillation hinges on
between
amongst purple blackberries
Wildly teasing out red
making fun of its intensity
marooned in a burgundy
a stalemate
who plays out the game?
King versus King
the Queens died long ago
maybe even first
acting a pawn in the front line
willing