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Flurry of rain, mist, quickly cool

Mouse, cat, man, Sequence of quiet.

Trees, their nests, branches, These are sufficient joys.

I am never at ease.

My neck flinches - skeletal tick, Terror in a fog That ails me.

Under the canopy, move slow, Crouch.

Humid teatime vapor, phosphorescent blue, color burned sky A stagnant afternoon, trees clenched - tensed - flexed - clenched Shimmering signals, noise/buzz, dehydrated vision Glared - staticked I select circumstances - avocal - implicit It’s been awhile s…

Rare abundance turning corners, Nooks of laughter, discovery.

Broad-leafed olive awning, Chalky lichen wrapping limbs, Wide trunk.

The wind is in all four facets of bloom, Flow and weave, cold cheek With a warm temple.

A written note, a writ, rote Rupture, ripped, played with Smoke, wound up smote, Pages felled, then filled, then flipped Through, one by one by one by two, A singsong psalm went on a year too long

A maze of sameness, likenesses, Replayed, replayed, replaced.

Many find it hard to keep up with the pace of things.

Depending on your outlook, here's some good or bad news: the future is irreducible.

Untethered.

We've turned to the forests for centuries to explain ourselves.

I walk in a waking way, With cause and a careless triumph

Slant brain crooked, couldn’t elect a lattice, rustic, slow in my process, leaf, left, laughed, I am slow And terrible, and slower still.

Cobwebs turn to lint And there is nothing on the vine.

I can replenish my mind with a color.

I imagine the body At Death’s mantle turns inward, breathes (heaves?)

Near wealth, your poverty implicates you.

Neither simple.

Foothold, handhold, free climb Into sandpaper bark, branches Yawning into reversed submission, Gravity on a yielding load Reaching, stretching, sagging, tired, Memory of an iron touch.

To be wrinkled, patterned and smooth, Charred.

Twin beyond twining Spherical double & orbital flow Spirit beyond reason, vacantly slow

Why they snuck into rattles, twigs, Thin filaments: gray, rising.

A moment past my patience waiting in the woods, A kind of endeavor stirs in my feet, my fingers, A curiosity to learn how I interact.

What thoughtful, lively shade: Flickering around pocketed moss, Little specks reflected Green, then darkly green

Little orange, sat, navel up In the corner of the sidewalk patch, Dirt surrounded by fruitless trees.

Crickets do not belong Only to the night.

I knew that could’ve been should’ve been me Living in the past, life on the line Drafted into unthought ideals, I was 18.

I was never one to shy away from a physical contest Consequence never conquered impulse.

Is there anything more finicky Than a butterfly Flitting from spot to spot?

I may live my days out in a mirrored exile Flipside of the longitudinal globa Straddled underneath the equator Looking up, looking back, misplaced In a thread of powerful impulse Frozen after quick, matrilineal.

Battered minds with my brain still spinning In ellipses (circles?)

Wooden picnic bench Slowly encroached by shade Your planks are weathering, Varnish long stripped, Pollen dust layered.

Vantage, distance, defense Motives of those who Move to the hills Never seem to change.

Bluegrass, careful, unequivocal Spiky here, shaved there, Earthfur bristling, Cold in summer’s windy fever.

I know how to be wealth adjacent Almost rubbing shoulders, but I will always, Unkempt, push away into wildernesses, Reassociate with my brethren branches, Leaves and foliage.

Find me an afternoon That teeters on the edge of warmth The type of day where cold feet and old cats Search for sunspots on the carpet Where heat grows only From stillness and patience.

I appear more doomed to repeat myself Than I couldve ever believed Change.

At the end of overgrown paths I halt, Close to the route, where Voices tether loose loops To my ears, sliding free As invisible bodies march Another few feet.

I notice evening shadows Do not fall or creep or inch I do not have the attention To see them in such real time I am distracted I see them in snapshots Markers, measurements, rooftops Snapshots, darkness.

I am closely patterned These last evenings tiptoe Next to flames, beards drawn Out to wisps, baggy eyes And wrinkles, singed.

Whisper while you hurt

Nighthorn, visceral, low Resonant, dripping, dripping angelic My worries flatlined into floor vents I pulsed picturesque, waiting, Waiting for some time, hopeful, Melancholic, a drifter surrounded by purpose Propped into the light Some vestigial impulse S…

Tall grasses matted down Into creekside cushions, Cross-legged, I sit in hopes of rest With a weariness that doesn’t translate.

The way your blood settles Into timezones Tacit limits of body And invention, Strength of orbits And spheres.

What mind wants to see the world Through a grid, this prison turned prism That does more to delight Than to illuminate (False soothsayer) I’m tired of data, equations and calculation If I don’t generate ideas, I’m a shitty computer Let the machine do what…