On and Under Large Wall

From our vantage on the wall
we can see both sides. And spy
the tacit movement in the grass
of any creature from the past
skittering, even slightly. But O,
how it is frightening. The angle
of a viewer from the distance
is almost 90 degrees. Straight up
parallel to trees on either side.
Standing up as much to show our bent
as for any growing meaning. Some
-how, to us it's lent itslef dis
-couragingly. And the single
point of distance; either end is
an unbearable thing to sense
and so from it turn away.
I never have intention to discredit
the path. The strong black coffee
plays counterpoint to it, jointly
in the dark and curtained back
room. Steam rises in listing lines,
corrodes the brick on either side
and forming ceiling. And darkened
distance just belies a difference
playing on opposed ends nicely
Stretching icily, ad infinitum.

Model of Duress

If these things are somehow
a matter of precision
and will wither in
the light of wan retention.

Thoughts like heavy
black steel blocks fall out
of your head. A litter
of exacting standards
unfulfilled by bulbous strands
of weld joints;
somehow alive. Somehow
vicious fungoid, holding
things together by keeping
sides apart, and joining
anyway. A rule—unseen—
of outcomes meted out unevenly.

Which masonic-minded fellow
extricated in some feat this
brashly anti-human ruleset
and replicated it in glass
as a scientific model
of duress, for teaching.

a Universal Declaration of Human Rights

On a hot and humid morning
on a hillside grove in Baja,
workers know—somehow that
far away, on a plain and over-
looking from another hill-side;
great radio-dish & telescope
on a squat and middling set
of buildings. They see as if
through one's mind's eye the
observation deck. Hung just
above the spinning chair of
Calvin—the night astronomer,
now gone—a sphere of light.
Struck down by awe, one man
remembers the future rapture,
the fire from the sky, and the
ascension of the holy to reside
on high. So climbing trees, just
him at first and then the others;
a small vain try to actually see it—
though indescribable the distance
that between them both would ply
an emptiness that one has felt
his whole life.

And no one could describe the sight
that took them not by words, but light
and darkness, color and impression.
And so despite their sharing things;
the night, the light, the empty feeling;
bow'd their heads and camped
a fortnight in that place, in hope
of it's returning.

Condensate

In the entrance of both seasons
the liquid dripping off of things
and into cups is saccharine,
insipid, very sour.

The screams of children joined
together in the outside hour,
are a single scream abounding
as a siren sounding.

Being lonely in it's singular nature
in that no sound comes up to meet it
and so nervously vibrates limbs
leaves, wires.

Anything that can hold a drop
of water.