Month: November 2015

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

Indoors,

–

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,

–

waiting

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

–

nature