A Microplane

A microplane
it will remain
a violate thing
and raw

and using one
though quite refined
to denigrate
and to provide

a succor, or
a spicy thing;
ablative friend
a microplane

Progress (edit)

A daily silent meditation, for me
means nothing—who I was is Who I am
and from the vantage of my early morning
the sun is hot and is a long long road
a thing I know to hoe.

An honest remembrance in the morning
is like mourning, sunshines a bombazine pall
where both dead and alive seen play'd side by side
like two penises, or a penis
and a vagina.

These planes will align in a complex time
of organs operating in concert
as if a strobing beam—white—trained
on planes is but a spotlight
as in a play, is plain.

To see in you and compliment, you
on anything: like the stupid summer.
How tedious the words and shallow
and can make skin pallid, sallow
a visage in the firmament.

But space is the place where the velvet sky isn't
and the screaming vacuum's indifferent
where the chess pieces starts are both real and canards
incalculable distance flattens
it's hard.

And, knowing, will fit an insatiable pit
just like uncooked rice, it expands.
Though its bright, it is dark, and to hope
on a lark, that connections maintain
in a band

An Elegy to our Ennui

Oh Tallow
oh Magma, waxy, shallow
your virtue is liquid
and soaked in a towel

when the total effacement
--a similar casement--
shows less than a cursory glance
to our placement

a stream of molasses
our worryment passes
it's air concealment is smug
it is passive.

Brids Belie More

Outside my window, birds are a virus.
In a suddenly cold repartee
their chirps make my sleeping a deathbed.
The cold isn't ice, it's malaise.

[A daily silent meditation, for me]

A daily silent meditation, for me
means nothing, who I was is who I am.
From the vantage of my early morning
the sun is hot, and is a long long road
a thing I know to hoe

these planes will align when a complex time
of organs operating in concert
as if a strobing beam--white--trained
on planes, is but a spotlight
as in a play, is plain.

To see in you and compliment, you
on anything, like the stupid summer,
how tedious the words, and shallow
and can make skin pallid, sallow
a visage in the firmament

and knowing, will fit an insatiable pit
--just like uncooked rice, it expands.
Though it's bright it is dark, and to hope
on a lark that connections maintain
in a band.