Your leavening, and i lied somewhere

This has come to jeopardy, and abuses,
Once in a path across your homeland, i
Saw on, the gray road, plated between, green
dashed, empty stretches, parted by wooden wire strung
Fence, etched into the sides, one of the few dips so that the
Horizon was obscured with a heavy, paled tones,
Only the defused spectral sun’s gray-blues, could palette
Unto all in view.


as in your sight, there was only distances, splattered
in silent damp, and no stirring could ever be
ascribed to anywhere; near.

Warships on the sky...

Warships on the sky,
Clay breaks,
Fused at
Moments before
Harmony.
catch, as it may, my sight, at the
bell’s; blips, along pale breaths
thrown out at, upon the shore

----------------

REMEMBER THE MORNING, REMEMBER BLISTERS, CRACKS, AND POLYMANIC

FIGURES. SCRATCH THE SOFT SKY, BLOW SIDE THE GAPING HOLLOWS.
AS ONE SHALL ALWAYS SING FOR MOTION, LET THE FALL OF RIMBAUD

BE FOREVER BELCHED, VIGOROUSLY.

Ask and then once more

Ask, ask, why we can’t ever look past and tell one another, any other, sights, that we feel would be passing
So we gravitate towards nominal misfires, and long, outstretched dementia, could this be: a sighting?

Slipping, slowly fear it slipping

In a mask, close-lipped
Sealing in-a-way treatise

.Missing Steps.
now, this is a frustration, undoubtedly unclear, infused into any relationship; of thought. It
seems impossible to tell whether the facts are fabricated or if they stand in isolation
with one another. Nevertheless, their arrangement in respect to any-other is as choreographed
to causing twists and horror. Blasted around the tunnels bend and maybe rushed.

Shots: Forth Wondering Ghost (revised)

For Virginia Tech

The chorus is out
fell here fathers
for our America

In drums and stillness of European fields
here fell our brothers
for shadow America

Behind locked doors and towers, stall the bells
And our children fall
for ghost America

proceedings in lines
ghettos in colours
forgetting of cares

Schoolroom egos
silent screams
rattling hastily

Well a south mourns
prayers forgotten
not all white is quiet and alright

date: until-after

I have found an old childhood memory my first recollection of thoughts in irony, along a
beach; alone,
two birds,
driftwood,
an ocean’s hazy,
poetic justices; tried.

forth decisions concluded, amongst the gray hue.

As one at a stop: separation

This is a time of departure.
it is the moment in which

The leave, has arrived
dismantling

An arm reach, shelter
that blocks salted eau

From spiting,
upon your sleeve

Of Yosef; his lover and a phone

in a web of citation
so your being cut to bludgeones , as with some ritualed

moreover, though you love hers, and its
intoxication; bleeding to the Weimar
and as we take streets and fight, till corpse mount
and the fragile republic blemishes

cuts, still into soot charred lakes we shall parade
And you still love
And you still
Holding dear, so we shall rise before yours and clench
The sabre!