number two

just photos

out my window, and on the sill

.,.,

i defamed the sky,
for showing me a color of blue
that i much rather would not
have wanted to see.
i just wish i could sit in trees
those leaves, those leaves.

modesty

considerations of some intangible kind
i could lump all the dark spots
into this bottle. the green won't keep long
it's just the last stab i have
at some brand of ignorance... won't keep long
if i continue down the mountain, no matter the speed
the avalanche gains
if i stay, this branch won't keep long.

you always thought.
always the first mistake.
i crossed three states yesterday
and i'm not talking about fucking wyoming
or something like that.
this is it. it's serious.
i've brewed coffee before
but never had to strain like this
it's all my cloudy days accumulating
it's all my rainy nights articulating
it's everything i can do to not run
it's everything i can do to carry on
none of you have any idea how much this is

reverence

it was subtle, i thought
but i wasn't the one standing
on the green bridge
my legs, like typewriters,
feeling visions cast out
from those suspended stars
wrapped tight to steel railing
still shaking from the shock
of elevation
soon it was alleviation
from a plastic pump on a metal drum
and being told what to do
never has been so rewarding

poem

i sat back and watched the dust settle
like a drawn out sunset washing over the green fields
within a moment it was over
the sun nestled between two walls of mountain
which rested a thought
if it never rises again, i won't mind

how many people cried?

foreclosing
my midsummer night-stick plummets to the depths
fields are hazy with jubilance of youth
with mardi gras of yesteryears
tessellation of an overt variety.
of grains of stalk
grains of sand
attacking the thought we
thought we had conquered
mere effervescence amongst the veil of exuberance
building walls on lands of quick sand
exterminating those means to an end
perpetuating correspondence on deaf ears

tuesday still

i dreamed a field
meadows of green
and rolling clouds
trees that whispered silently
secrets that no one else knew
i carried a basket of the finest delicacies
port, brie and poetry
the set was locked, it was impeccable
i lilted a melody, immaculate
the sun set low, the sun set low
the meadow darkened, ashen, barren
upon my lips was the glass
revealing itself empty, desolate, dry