A Dovetail from the Meniscus My eyes would catch the sky — light-hearted until the trance — horizon buckled down deep into my pockets, Enlighten, squared and steep in time, but with each return to the dawn With the courier Sun, And the sky sits there synonymous with each passing Souvenirs what was possibly undreamt, without coasters, just floating Like a hippo camp, An ardor push narrower and narrower under the hippo camp

A steam engine full of bayonets pause When the weather steepens And looms, Beauty becomes a sort of meniscus while faces don’t change, The world — pregnant with ammunition steadfast keys piano, and fortissimo, moderate builds, Moderate party And the lull rampant, Unhurried a busy street Takes snowing, A petal hovering, That long lull

To be penless is not a privilege — it's an artifact, and only the road is kept dreamt. Whereto for a cheered living. — Your poetry will not be televised. It will be read. Literate by you. Cut off the revolutionist’s silhouette arm and find a new banner. That deep place where you close your eyes, but do not tell yourself if you're nearby. Pierce it. Raise your concerns. Poetry is a request that…

The Cowl I went to the black holes flipped in my NREM-3 sleep with the idea that the ideation hadn’t started, An event horizon, bedrock in a lure, sediment, a stare down the steepest of wells Gouging at a window, waking up to entropy, Cartesian light, onto genesis, was light, and the escapism Of the world, The many…

Memories keep you reminiscing — Priming the moving target A pocket of time can be a swath, A rouse Like an oath, it sets apart the natural world A cold breath, but its timing collects as you come together fungible as well, corners of the world In the distance can be heard, “Let’s go.” The Shrink is on the way. Everything is going to be alright, Onsets a big-picture, broad and boasting But not yet spreading,

Whimsical Perch Sprout, once the backyard fences are up Like a gate to the heart, desire — becomes a helix evident of light; Remixed! copter, copter, copter, come! A pivot spinning with the forceps of cruxes — Float shades pulled like curtains, Here comes set the Sun