The world is so poetic

Leaving the subway station,
the tile floor is bandaged
with hundreds of magazine covers
all featuring Britney Spears,
and the headline,
“Living with Mental Illness.”

Trapped
between the covers
I realize I have
stepped over a dead bird —
a wingbeat from the exit.

if the world is made

if the world is made
of stone and wood,
then the world grows
defiantly, as it should—
slowly, surely, the world
grows as it should.

if the world is made
of cloud and sky, then
life will pass us by, sigh
by sigh, each cloud pass
us by, as sure as the world
is made of cloud and sky.

if the world is made
of water, endless plane
that conquers all; tranquil,
eternal at rest, shattered upon
storm’s crest, then the world will
never be at rest, never be at rest.

if the world is made
of fire, then man is a candle
in a choir of flame, each name
a moment that radiant exclaims,
“the world is, as it could, for the
world IS, when should, becomes

would.”

morning of the brilliant sunshine

morning of the brilliant sunshine
the plastic electric cleanses the eyes.

the image of renewal
replaces sterility.

offers the previously
earth mortgaged

rebirth, the seminalism
of thoughtful elasticity.

The pallid, the effusive,
numb, blind,

torn, blown, thrown away —

to be replaced by
Elysian liquidity,

air and light,
corruscating frequently,
human and thinking free.

Stars must be charted

Stars must be charted from the surface of the water
whose qualities and characteristics most become the ether.
The diamonds of each ripple are equal in increment
to the imagination necessary to filing and describing
constellations as they appear before you. Heaven’s
girdle marks the phosphorescent path we navigate
polarized scales of fish trace the path of shining waters
pouring upon the ocean, pouring onto the plain, the full gallop
of the panoply of all that seek to run, flame upon the
surface, oil aburst with the glory of its consumption,
earth shattering cataclysms that make chasms and canyons,
that separate now from forever in a book written in shale.

Our passage scribes a shattering of new space where we
reflect, undistorted, each star’s place — endlessly.

 

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