spinning straw into gold. anyone can do it. it's made to sound a lot more difficult than it is ~ simply a matter of loving the light enough ... and waiting.

shadowed on one side ... the moon. it keeps its face turned toward us and always that shadowed side, turned away. unusual behavior for a celestial body. most of them spin while spinning. almost human in its positioning; keeps its dark side hidden ... and its light, is borrowed - a reflection of other light-giving sources.

shadowed on one side and blown back by the sun's last, and most brilliant, orations.

a crooked stack of hay bales will catch the full moon's caught light tonight. you should see it. it's gonna be quite something. glowing. a show. a pile of foreign coins mis-spent beneath a row of hungry clouds; strung out - ribs showing. not cheese - the moon is made of straw once fed to the skies during celestial famine. a curious, smiling cud. what goes toward making a gem? pressure and heat at the earth's belly ... we are all in heaven's teeth - grinding light. precious stones ... gonna be some beauties.

a stone beneath my dream's. a head nodding with visions, wave upon wave, salty and red -a great rolling tongue still forming the words, 'in the beginning ...'

a nimbus. a darting illusion. guarding and guarded by the rings round the moon. reality's fisted intention to grip ... and smack down. all i have is patience and small change; a quarter moon. through a restless inner shift from empty to openness, i'm spent through the loom of a weaver's heart, set across the heavied horizon that tips uncertainly against itself, threatening its edge towards vertical desires.

what is left? the sky itself torn open with a rootless scar. a falling away of all the lines around things that make them the things they are. falling away, shapeless threads littering a sewing room floor.