paper falling from its topmost heights
in lazy, reluctant grace.
Verses scribbled there, sinking into The Forgotten’s dark maw,
unread.
Grace sometimes has edges;
some, razor sharp.
Insomniac lifts her undreamt dreams to the crush of dawn,
tongue and heart coated still with unslept sleep.
the seams of her thought ravel in, thread by thread, past dozing night watchman
protecting the horizon from being too guarded.
Aura of an echo – the air shimmers still with its passing, even as it
persists – arisen from no origin –
Skin vibrates loose and at odds with
its own illusion. pure energy. there are
no boundaries -
disembodied, she inhabits magic’s ghetto
where necessity is abandoned for
something more … important – here, neglect suggests
deeper love.
The weight of sufficiency – what cannot be
measured - hard to explain the inexplicable, yet
the effort begets peace. language kicks in; spins in
to itself to cross the singular unspeakable.
profundity weaves its ebullient shatter,
trails off, resumes -
or not – slip, miss -
lucid and unrefined.
a pinpoint – no. not that - too direct .
vivisection of a whistle
falling beneath its own weight:
the sound of
Sound, the sight
of Vision.
