rye

rye

where has your desire gone?

into the wilds of willow brows
combing long winded hair
spiral stitched
emerald riven
some spectral enclave
tiny verbal rifts
rafting you, rafting them, against a sea's current
farther out from your humanity.
epilogue
rolls with the marbles distorting what's underneath.
you stay awake for weeks
nothing tells you small everythings
time makes little sense,

 

only the crows feet tell you where you're going to.

a night bird with transparent black eyes
a ring of yellow, too bright
talks you down

You can't help but to listen.

you are not yourself
you have never met, this you.

small joys/no joy
tree frogs, dusted with bronze
so small they linger among the great swathes of thick squash leaves

reminds you
of how premature newborns in mighty grandfatherly palms are held,

how future is held as a starting point.

rye seeds, scatter
makes a slinking sound as they disappear
a corridor of burnt brown bramble
leads you off, to where you take no hands.

star drop

star drop

how bleached sun hits/
a single droplet of water/
and it is essentially contained there/
as if by magic/
dangling from the bare/
and dormant fingers of an apple bough/end of winter/
and it holds the entire star/
as brightly as any other great nothingness/
could ever hope/ to hold it just as well.

lock the honeycomb in the hive

lock the honeycomb
in the hive

slip.
lose your footing-
that's the way/you feel it all
sweet/never forget the sour.
down there/looking out of-
the universe, yes, herself.
is beautiful/ugly/
is the view you need/
all of your life
that matrimony-
and you'll remain painfully
faithful until the end collapses
your house/a hollow/
a gold plated...