Wednesday, January 15, 2020


In the cracked film
I am stuck in an old armchair
for years of watching the same
living set of synchronicities
continually occur within a grinding
kiss of rock, the far pine
mountain's judgement,
proud brains in a trickling ooze.

Naked at the windows
we see what the wind carries
wraiths and remainders
the left-out skeletons
of those like us
clutching a cold cylinder
lost in the magic of blood
refusing to look on high
for the light that watches

toss me a ham bone
meet me in the rolling steam
I will look for you as you move
you will expose yourself to me
and be unharmed in radiance.

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