Hemlock Gridded
In the green night there slips
A lamp in the window
Where burns times’ coordinates.
Pagan lettering on glass sleeves.
Salve there and stays in the glow.
Viewing portal positioned as if transfiguratively posed.
In solitude the antimatter world enlisted.
The story written all evening encompassing.
Rabbit the nocturnal disarrangement.
Crow the brief morning preview.
Bolded words out from the fire.
Birth Reconnaissance
Eclipse & occult body
A sudden splitting
In the climb-down box
Skull shimmer a pale urn
Then the workday incognito
Slip webbed to the diurnal
Rotating mass, shifting penumbrae
Garbed for the radiant fallout zone.
The Enterprise of History
Here in the columnar appendixes of lives
(Those human injuries) where sod and marsh land
Wake in the starkness white-blind
Even the quick tender surplus in the love economy
Got barred for transgressing the norms
Said it lost its vulgarity and fast
Became entertainment wise and lost the salve.
Skip sink cake
The question returns of who looks
Through my eyes, searching cranial
Inside the contraband bone structure
A pause ambiguity, periphery peeled
Outward the jargon rehearsal a script
Fantasy come at last. It’s an earshot,
I have no one so remembrance matters,
Felt escape charge making it sparkle.
And the deep organic core
“Pouring honey on the wild beasts.”
An ecological pornography in situ.
Fun with the poltergeist activity
There the mesmerist’s scope, the animal magnetism
Transmitted from the body.
The steel forgery flames awash in the flickering
Dim of a working man’s hourly shadow puppet.
The blood-moon production shakes Coptic flesh.