moons in a trace above rooftops and Brueghel fractals
he comes home from trailing toolbox in hand
and the snowdust has started again. Traces of moon cluttering the skycorners
fury of white quiet. What was yesterday? And the night before?
Squirrels in tribes and younglings frolicking, we’re quiet & alone. Ampersands dissociative reasoning
Boot tops with snowtraced linens, blue glow in the dust tailed willows. Soft, hum.
It is reflected in pale haired wise children—we have grown an broken the seal, so drink up with the dusk, and hide the bottle in a suitcase under your bed of many nights dreams. The conversations are no longer insipid, but grown, just as the sheet thickens and constricts, we are the arteries of treachery and dawn, the bonesickening disease god did not make or need. We are the blue lanterns trailing into nonexistence and the int7uitive philosophy surfacing from lotus moonwater made of man, if it were not for Him I may be a drifter amongst a sea of Dante’s satyrs who claim to be gods. I might be drunken and a’sunk singing the swift tune 3 eyed goddess Demeter sings. Nyx was of the night just as we embodied it, them, they are. Soft hush, do not sing, lay as we have always lain..slain daughters and dragons and talking to the seafaring wall of childhood, farewell now.
Yesterday was verticality in everything and the collapse of individual dimensions ,when floating somehow I became others just as Whitman did in Sleepchasings, when shapes assume alien forms and powdery smoke.
But paranoia, that purple demon who recently only clambered, out of the big boiling womb, it clenched my heart—I felt like the sinister painting in a picture of dorian gray who traded his soul for a progression of satan on canvas and was it because of boredom that we did so last night?
(but I would again, do so, and thus thereafter once more and again)
was it because of onesided wander? Or loneliness, just as the snowbelt divided islands of furthering tunes, we are always walking in a state of departure, the distance growing each everyday. As we’ve seen the small fish consumed by the mightiest jaws of sharp clarity so too would the largest eventually starve—we eat to subsist but we are in a tank of constant self destruction and every act of acquiring energy furthers destruction—we are simply relief from temporary death, our bodies all seek to deconstruct and implode
but the snowfall has picked up now, this dream of a newlywed man driving through highways to the unfurnished new pale house, with a soft sot woman n linen and the softliness of underthings waiting. He shifts wine from state border to border to the border between man and woman and he and she, and their cat, and wow, is this the snowfall of four days nonstop! Of valentine’s chamomile tea brewing and red velvet cake in the oven making love, this is the snowfall of Wallace, of Faulkner and father and oh father am I glad I’ve found it agayne! It was lost all I had were wet kisses confused in traffic light and the constant noise pollution of externalized wanders, how tragic everything was! For days and weeks.
The moons cluttering clustering the rooftops are just reflections of studylights and I am here, early afternoon now in calm Italian contemplation. I’ loved, and will once more, love. I had widened scopes of introspection and purpose and continue forward I expansion within and without, until lines are deceased