w r i t i n g s

across vast horizons II

a poetry anthology containing the wonderful work of several poets on tumblr

is now available on amazon.

check it out!

this black night

a loose canvas

the clouds are brushed on too thinly

the stars are drops of blood

this black night

you were a soft hand on my cheek

my mind, no gesso, but sharp tooth

& inside my head sleeps this black night

i swipe the stars with turpentine

so now you are galaxies

greater than this black night

with too many things to worry over

& forgot how to just say hello

you have escaped our frame

you have left me with broken glass

on this black night

klik-kuk,

kukukuki- kikuk.

they are to my left, close enough

that they could touch my glowing hand.

green & azure.

a spell, a mist-swirl. i am not sure

why. it feels like

my hand is underwater.

one of the squirrels, the one in the hat, points at me

& goes quiet, shushing the other

with a tiny finger.

they suddenly run off into the trees,

which were not there before.

the trees

that were not there before.

i think this is the name of where i am from.

my head is clear, the gentle breeze whispers this to me. there is an occasional klik-

kluk-

kikkik

from a distant branch that i cannot see. or perhaps it is my phone, which i ignore. there is no magic there.

my head is clear.

the trees begin their dance.

the glow fades.

the wind

turns to a rain

that sings my dirge

with the tired arms of my lungs

it is oppresive

an osprey watches us

(( cautiously ))

she finds the beauty

i find the longing

& between the two of us

they're nice on their own, but if you know what they're from ( two separate things ), they're even better!

i.

here we have what at first appears to be a hole in the sky behind a cloud that runs. a tree is deceived. there is a black square-like figure that judges, & a light that attempts to shape itself as the hole, to please it, to become one with it one day.

ii.

we retreat from the scene, & hover just above the tired road. the cloud has swallowed the hole in the sky, causing a great beam of dream energy to escape into the wires. a tree is shelter.

iii.

upon further inspection, the wires are not wires at all, but carefully wrought slices in the sky, bleeding invisible sadness upon the world. we are treeless. the hole in the sky has changed, but we can't say how, or why.

iv.

glass shines on rough brick green

glass shines on tearful eye blue

toy with a bit of mirror no longer at the right angle & won't you look at the sun

glass shines on closed door purple

glass shines on book spine red

like half a tube, another mirror half-attached, half-reflecting something moving

something dancing outside in the verdant dream

i am splayed out on the floor one palm up & the other down

covering a glass unshine [ color-undefined ]

the ceiling is not a universe, it's just a ceiling

should be spinning, could be silent, would be with a wind that can be felt up the nose & ankles

this broken thing, this plaything, this light thing, wander heavily anyway

nothing caught, nothing free

( hush )