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…

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

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,

Moments are said,

Will these memories come again?

Look into the big-picture

There’s the tap

That infinitesimal sense from orchestration.

We sleep knowing the shrink is on the way,

But wake merely knowing the day.

And yet if I flick the switch,

The beautiful Medusa would say otherwise.

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