babel

Buds a flower.
But before
its petals disperse,
at opportune power
rises a path we traverse
across a distance
brighter, assumed than
the sky. In a coiled
record we immerse,
every hour paid,
whose stillness of light,
growing no shade,
to questions.

full moon

Sparkling to the liquid lenses of my little face, I stared. Its dark iris, one half of the equine monocular. Itching and burns, the bigger eye sees backward through the skull to examine the other in shadow. It winks slowly, this Inverted Pupil. Tonight it splay open.  I live in the yoke of its brain.

accumulation

A motivated future is one formed from the accumulation of every, everyday. Like water, it becomes necessary for human survival. And yet because of its own chemistry changes - from gas to liquid to solid and back - into a logic requiring us to work through it. Our selves are no different. Disdain should not be had for such things making us beyond our will, forcing with a burdened weight, to enable transformations inside us that create and move things the way we are compelled to desire.