24.5.11

fragment four

. . . adoration to away. . .


I see you sleeping on the screen

where we give the time ahead some

lighter things to hold


limbs of hope stem from the connections

tremendous frameworks

that span the gap and the noise

scores of nations

patchwork landscapes

frenzies of minds

and, even greater, all the common threads


I see all that you and I can do

occidentframe four














lit balconies













perpendicular

22.5.11

fragment three

a clumsy fury with the end of the week's boxes

then a final outflux of exultant workers, hurried words, shared plans, excitement in many tongues, a pleasant weariness in drifting out and aspiring for collected days

a journey interspersed with repose and libations before another, an interlude of steeped words

on the higher roadways, the sleek, the new, the empty, the bland, the great valleys through, always with metal blurs, flagrant celerity

then a rush to lower land, stores, stashes, and clans further down, swift flight with floundering effects of consumption

foggy once it is all achieved, unsure of the next course, what could be sequentially attained, who could be found to forage for textured experiences

taken things in, wander out in a corporeal and an intangible sense to elements: sills, stones, weeds, paths, edges, windows, stucco, hues, balconies, arches, buds, limbs, crossbars, gatherings, canopies, propylons, ways

in there might be a resolution in the release of knowing what I have and have not in the moment

there is still the gleam along all edges, bolstering lines west

18.5.11

fragment two

the tones that hold me
cyclical sensations of comfort
from this life and lives before
familiar friends meeting
gentle beds of grey lulling rooms
a deep voice sparely whispers, "it's alright."
and it is now
antiquity
settled
tepid and peaceful

occidentframe two














strip through













light spire

16.5.11

fragment one

I know I was once full of fear, thirteen,
aware of being at the bottom, scrutinized,
frantic to follow rules and hide in a hoodie

I remember an anxious trip
through the river valley
for lost reasons,
and a lost library book

I don’t remember all my homeroom teachers

I remember the streets where I wasn’t,
a guy in a composed grey leather jacket
hanging out of a car window,
a girl draped in floral patterned blouse
out of an old dream,
and impossible tights,
I remember sandy hair,
spare rooms and half empty bottles,
and feeling like it was all too soon,
but none of these last things are my memories