untitled 9

Whispered awe

A pile of ash

Your crown of vines, heavy

Gravity forged in the fire of grief

Leaden as the sea

When you’ve had your fill

Of those sleepy corners

Search for one’s own dirt

Just above your tired lotus feet

Shoved below an openness of sky

Under the noose

Of a catatonic crash into the moon

I promise death before succession

Untie your hair, a hardened heart

Does the skin of the fruit remain fuzzy

Or has the pattern been peeled away

Let the cities return

Devout with forests, treated by sap

Barren of defilement

Refined by dust mixed with howl

Armor of the goddess in those rains

I only fear with the inability to touch

God, atop story of the edifice

Bubbling up from the lion’s pool of

Curiosity

A sharp sword

Precise but playful

The jest of false perceptions

Arrested by allegorical powers

To transform materiality

Should light not bounce from your eyes

Should an apple seed not turn to glass