418

417

416

415

414

413
This is temporary, yet fixed--
In time, yet memory.
Strands of sky, voice, scent
Wove in rough bolt,
Unfurled at need and patterned to suit
A life's illusioned tale.

412

411
Inner fall turned common-eyed disgrace
Is sin undone in gallery complacent;
But empty-halled echoes are all in one.
Mispurpose is kind, misdeed is straight
In misgrained sleepless weight.

410

409

408

407

406
These emblems of selves have crept beyond memory's compass,
The shaded impedimenta of foregone need--
Once friended text and notes now unpurposed by time,
Are heaped for a second removal in the neon cellar light.

405

404

403

402

401

400

399

398
The smallest world
Is a circle too
Encircled too with stars
And rounded too with time,
Distance availing inversed.
.
Photons as selves is a weary
Conceit on your north skin,
Ensconced in 3-mirrored sin in grace emerging.
.
Being there,
Termed in emergence,
And infinity twist, to oh.

397

396

395

394

393

392

391

390
One more cigarette, three then,
While the shadows stand still as the sun
Still as dark flakes of stone
Not strewn but solid blots of earth worn through the pavement--
Unlike my sensorium cruelly curling as the smoke,
Finding motion in the still air,
Disyielding in its unweighted nature:
Not without the earth but woven in,
With, of, notion and light.

389

388

387

386

385

384

383

382

381
Local conditions show little
But to eyes of touch and fingertips of sound.
.
Heed the blood whisper
In intricate isolation's channel night.
.
And move the stars with a glance
And surrender cold to unfelt light.

380

379

378

377

376

375

374
In the disagency of stillness
Cicadas evening the tree, its green memory
And darker shadow.
It is night standing, dreams leafed waiting,
Edged still with foregone sun,
Ricked with insect agenda,
Unvoiced voice of dark.