the black hole births us, always ahead it pulls us out of ourselves.

limbs reach through the house, binding memory in time and space.

a yellow silk liner, the inside of a thin envelope, young children still rolling in the grass.

calculating the surface area of disintegrating form keeps the formlessness at bay.

leg by leg the robin takes the spider, his economic eye counting.

let's seek a softer pillow, loose the hard words, slow the push of life.

from the middle of the road, we watch light glint on the games of others.

sweet dreams are sticky, drops of blood thrown to the gods.

full of howling moon, life lessons and a kit bag packed as a child.

such flag and bluster. .

if crushed, the rot sets in, anger amputates the future.

be here, be aware, be wary of where you mark your x.

praise is a precarious build, no solid ground prepared, fallen by morning.

the waters surface reflects what you bring, beneath an anchor demands accountability.

walking beyond self in the trees green, my tongue alone can't return a greeting, from outside a body is dislocated angles.

slight cupping of yesterday's material ritual, memory a sleight of hand.

an indecipherable tryst, losing self in other, lost again for the beech to blur the wound.

May's diamond ritual, scattering possibility in mirrored droplets, a cusp morning.

the flow of ink gathers on a brush, leave the constriction of the first letter, clear the hangmans stage.

you, waiting for testament, backed to the wall, spine broken; flutter in defiance.