Blossoming rift

original poetry

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Tend

Cyclone indulging in the feast of elements,
I am spun out over moons to tend cloud-flocks
& nurture the wooly face miniature suns
Aspiring towards their intricate...
(Play?) (Creation?) (World?) (Art?)
.
I have taught them words, and their imagination
Has taught me word's insufficiency.
Insufficiency of imagination has taught me
Imperfection, and imperfection has shown me
The precision of life's fragmentary mural.

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Plow

Viewing an exhibit
(Pine cone variations)
Plastered with unearthly hues
(Hyper-ocular sight cones floundering)
|A vague futurity disallows further agriculture|
|To rest in what unmoving vortex of dream|
|To experience the contentment of a seed|
.
Before we were stone vesicles
(Respirating, shadows crystalline)
Prior to the ghost of the concrete cosmogony
Which possessed our essences
(Unwavering messengers of time)
.
That unnamable unity We,
Contemplating the cyclical
Paradox of impossibility which
(Unsufferably real)
Was to become
Our mentic
Typhoon

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