Rabelais was wrong - Nature doesn't "abhor"

an unmet need sustained
by its own presence alone;
thriving in its hollows,
is it then, truly a need? what perishes?
what sends out roots? sometimes,
absence responds in its
vacuum; generates something unlikely:

beauty.



settling into the in
between, grey aria - vague music
explicitly un
defines my slow
slow dawn descending from different depths -
a new place, timeless as the oldest star
i can locate - towards this source, i confess
dissonance, only to find all the words,
already there already
there.

in, out and under, not through intention,
this heart's juggernaut

never meant to

create a love for

you that touched but held -

untouchable, even

skin to skin.

uneven in loss, set off
balance, it is myself
i mourn; confined in a room
without angle or corner, for there are
no walls. i stack useless, open doors
flat up on each to each, towards
the sky, already slung low to meet
warped glass leaning blurry and frameless -
letting light in and in and in,
expansive as the big bang, still
dynamic, rolling out without pause
or regret. it never meant to
seek its rim-elastic limit without
rest, less distance and it won't pause til it
gathers defined limit and unwrites
that theory and laughs at mankind not
unkindly - it's just the IDEA exists between
cocky set ears which infinite lacks so it just

doesn't hear. on the outskirts, in life's pyre dreamt fire,
i wake cheek to shoulder and scented of smoke; slow spun
fingertip spin print my cosmic mark remarks on likeness -
just like a pinwheel, kaleidoscope bottom spills out,
off center - are there moments,
do you feel it too? i just ...
i can't.
cope - nothing to hold on to, but then a sense:
the great grab on me - a need
relentless - look up.
it's not that
important
and yet ... and
yet, every gesture out and in word, its deeper drive goes

bang. mine - in breath, that pause where exhalation won't
manifest - not in a gasp or a roar or a fugitive
storm, just ... calm. an inaudible hesitance loaded
with quiet permanance - faint creation;





a tone, then
a word, one. again. uni verse, a
caress, in tent, campy yet
inspired, tired and startled, old inertia tossed
stolid amidst lush aridity. paradox
locks into place, finds nothing at odds within
itself, functioning beyond logic's dysfunctional grip
and ire; i slip the hinges loosely off their poor fit
to nowhere; door settles easy, loses itself to my
echo, my sigh sliding open, open old boundaries designating
nothing really real, just keeping illusion in compartments passing
one 2 another. someone shudders and senses a ghost, mutters
a prayer and stares towards the opening, careless wind
where it makes itself known and shifts atmospheric,
lyrical rounds thru my blurred, unfocused

underground.