I’ll walk the wall without the fall at all.
Imagine that. I’m creeping in the lung
of ocean as it’s tonguing waves that ball
me up and spit me down. I’m that deep-
brow’d Homer ruled as his demesne.
My yellowed inside’s greyed by sky. Ocean
left it’s teeth, I’m shredded paper cuts. Can’t
bleed because the water’s pink and motions
cough. Light dives and scatters. Droplets cling,
crop the leaves and cry like dream-catching eyes.
Curve the glimmer and that’s a sparkling.
Then I felt like some watcher of the skies,
buried in the moss that only shadows
those who suck the bone and leave the marrow.
Fresh for the opening of the morning’s eye,
the colors come, but then they go to rainbow
moatel taunting the toads that die like farts
anyway. Niko walks the plank and holds
his breath to death, that clutch of life that crunch
of Godly foot. Symmetries attacking
me like whirl—I could never draw a bunch
of circles. Rose born from the matchstick’s end
ignites the gas, finds it’s way to the toadlings ass
squashed like dried herbs drenched in steep,
the way the mountain climbs that fiery ice,
yet ‘tis a gentle luxury to weep
for toads that saw green in their reflection,
spent themselves like cash crop dusting diction.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
are bitter chunks of cradled caviar.
I play my music to open their ears
before I eat. High up lavender tree,
I perch on a fold out chair with spliffs,
thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
scrubbing rusted skin of steel, stealing whiffs
of acid. There’s no safer ways to rhyme.
How many principles of life are there?
μηδὲν ἄγαν. Painted swirls are in love,
but not with us. Knots in the canvas where
petals meet the stem of brush. Cement cove
awash with permanence. I’m setting sunstone.
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe.
Leave a Reply