Infinite Projections Into Space
I'm so tired of thinking about Zeno
...
Here a space to occupy ourselves
droll and whatnot a second space that fills halfway on will alone
Look - I said that we could be friends - and in doing so negated the chance
...
In the slipstream of the canoe
one lone fresh water salmon
pinks about it doesn't roe here
nor does it understand that it could
it just becomes a thing
eating at the muck on the bottom
of the river
thinking about sex and food nothing else
...
Let's not kid ourselves
we can tangle any time
...
The purple in the light bulb screams burn out the rattle
a sure sign of darkness to come
In the instant of night - out in Los Alamos - there is a green flash
and it reminds us of the fires
But it's just the horizon eating itself just the breath exhaled
by the horses pulling the chariot
...
The tortoise tho
...
In the video the woman is tweezing a snail shell
the parts a broken cup and saucer a clear kintsugi
upon the brown fragility of its surface the detail
that the glue is only on the outside -
A naked snail - foot like - a weird sort of digit sits
patiently
...
It all just spills outwards
The dam giving way to the winter melt the sound of it - crunching
like a wafer - there is a need to hear this sound - concrete crumbling
edifice and economy collapse
We watch Walking Dead and hope we'd not get wire to the head
But we all know we'd die episode 1
...
Showing posts with label rivers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rivers. Show all posts
14 February 2017
11 March 2016
Poem-A-Day #11 : This Geology
This Geology
Elk preen on the edge of the canyon
clasping themselves to the rocks - lichen around the knobs gray and feathered
Wind boils itself - fire in the eyesockets of lime
Shapes make and unmake themselves - grasping soil and then letting it go
like birds from the nest
This geology is angry
Blood in out over - the universe begins with a shallow grave spun from a river
and it ends in the palms of a bee
Elk preen on the edge of the canyon
clasping themselves to the rocks - lichen around the knobs gray and feathered
Wind boils itself - fire in the eyesockets of lime
Shapes make and unmake themselves - grasping soil and then letting it go
like birds from the nest
This geology is angry
Blood in out over - the universe begins with a shallow grave spun from a river
and it ends in the palms of a bee
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