I'm tender
and crispy around the edges,
sliced apart and fried
like ill done potato chips
raw and rotting in the middle
ashes crumbling to dust
at the ends.

The candle light has dwindled
to two small points in the night
glowing eyes set above
the dull stalks of the holders
in the dimness of the evening.
So little could have been done
yet so much has been.

___
4/30

Deep breath in
and exhale to the
tune of a starship's manifest
It's time to prove that there's
something still moving in these
depths beneath a long still pool
My currents turn ripples to
waves across my surface-
is it time to come up for breath?
The light scatters and dances
stars where waves peak
and I rest my burning eyes.

________

3/30

vestigial existence
these chemicals that flood
the channels that

irrigate imaginings 

and movings beneath

smooth plains.

My continuance a

remainder of the processes

manufacturing culture

until we collapse in upon 

ourselves—

vestigial existence

the key to endurance

if I can survive the now.

_________

2/30

Tethered and tender
bound am I
to this framework built
from gut string and bone
upon the drafts that
chaos wraught in
a past imagined by
bespeckled men whose
bones now molder
under deeply en-mossed
artifice.




_________
1/30

I'm a fragile eco system
built of bird spit and star dust
delicate electro wires frizle with
each impulse out from the darkness.
I've come tilted and un managed
my pools over running and building
bogs where once were tender footpaths
and leaving the other dry, parched,
leeched away so that even the water
unexpected afore death leaves no
jolt but cognition. Thoughts a reflex
now where once white hot lightening
arched from pool to pool, foot press
to foot press, alight with hope.
I've found these paths abandoned
an old bower's nest strangely preserved
through time, as the rot seeps up
from the ground and reclaims
the supports keeping up the
expectant hoardings twinkling
as the light reaches a final
gloaming over the ruined land.

Green glass sits in the rounded stones 

And the waves come up cold

From the north, salt water 

Coming in icy 

From the swell off the boats. 

I want to say she does not see me here

Picking my way across the

Sand bar home, 

But her captain smirks at my wet feet

When the tide chased my heels

Towards the dock

The same as 

He did when I told him

Where I wAs going this afternoon. 

These treasures that I would bring

Home to you

To form the housing to protect 

Our hearts 

Are made brittle by the ice forming

At the edges.