1,000

the bitter cold- the kind that

drinks the warmth

from your coffee,

colors red

onto your face,

seeps into

your holey shoes-

that wasn't what shook

my trembling hands.

(death)

i was sil(houettes of a million planets,
a million suns halo heads
of granite in of a trillion tons
above the dark and breathless plain,
beneath the rings and rings of lights,
radiant and high in swirls,
and there, where sta(nding
at the street corner, again.
why did the apples always melt?
the puddled resin looked back to the sky.
above, a red light glowed bright,
i blinked back in reply, but
six directions, no access
unless i cross- i could break the rules
but the a steel-stream line of
c)ars would dance, unaware
of anything but orbit paths
millions of miles from the center
millions of bits of rubble quiver
in belts below, in velvet seas
reflecting the pres)ent for a moment.

surreality
like the morning haze,
denies its ascending
or descending
depending on if
you wake
and decide
to rise
or fall again
into
sleepy grays

embraced by a you-mold,
i subtly changed my shape
to include the presence
of eyes, arms, words. . .

when i woke,
a shape where you
had pressed against my cheek
when i wrote,
a smudge of ink
left on my hand
and when i left,
something on my tongue
so bittersweet

yesterdays and yous,
and evidence of
negative space

reluctantly,
bilateral symmetry
ends at the scale of a single body
one body ends a beat before the rhyme
i am literally short one
iamb
and unreluctantly,
my rabidly eclectic heart
swallowing those lost art looks from a form
rests on the left side, one dose at a time,
eliciting apologies
from me

(i tried find the shift in the line)

and the drums
fell
down
the
stairs

not unlike
a

d e v o l u t i o n

fast-forwarded.