just here, rolls up
then crumples to a ruff
an entity no less than mine
singularly yellow, a flute note
maybe out there, beside you I’ll lay
baiting the first daylight, the usual drift
a tempo mourned by winds with no sign of time
Tag Archives: writing
proprietor
seeing no wrong
silhouetting intervals
scarcely pointing
at a floating mosque
A loose verse
Clasped
A punctuation
Altered to suit
Much of myself
With the same hand
The tonality of a pen
Tunnel
Tangled against my father’s cigar
Instead it was Jesus, hazy and unaware
Sing to me, as I admire your boned alphabet
If this is astral, rattle my broken rest
Cruelly watching me weep, doing nothing instead
I know perfectly
the inexplicable is you in the midst of a crowd
ever loved, ever chinned, for my eyes to see
I bring yet more trouble, outbidding those who touch you
unhurt by this weight upon me , I lean, and kiss your forehead
softly whispering words uncombed by thoughts, my usual mistakes
discovered, when I repeat your name
the hundreds of years, questioning, second guessing myself
merely steering, as you fake your death, diluted into a chorus
a grand opera, confusingly ascending the opposite way
a speech that provokes me, pressing your fingers across my chest
a sympathy much too apologetic, calling itself doctrines
