There was never war 

But that prefiguring the mind

From the arrhythmia of emotion,

So count on humanity 

Like the weather 

That keeps you hidden


Count on five fingers,

Halves of everything whole,

Count the body you oppose, 

know it to be yours,

Lose your toes

In the sound

Let it snow

Sand, once more

For in old age 

The child

Forever forgets 

How to count


I slept in a grey sun

as it steeped in moonless dreams,

I walked away 

And fell from half formed Amber

to half eyed flesh,

an armadillo,

tasting the mist of infinity

becoming the place it inhabits

in the sight it sees,

a solitaire, a fly 

without the spider society 

as its seamstress

and life was short 

the thin span of an ant’s wing,

it could’ve only been a night

in a thought,

catching asterisms in the dark

light of mind,


to make mate with wind

and raise me 

in unwinding air,

unfeeling of nothing apart

from everything, asleep to man

and his mindful mania of control,

the long old polytheism of words

for the occult world we continue 

to teach ourselves out of

the imageless meaning 

of a finger over description,

history or your ghost,

why are you so afraid

to reverse raw anthropomorphism, 

and see into the dark nest

of what you are