Data and Dust

Be real.
Do you see yourself-
or is that too close to
the source
of your own breath, body
and a-scent
afloat
and uncontainable-

Yet you try.

What do you mean
by that, when you say
portrayal in lieu of betrayal?

Whose idea was it?

Could we share this notion
like an opinion?

Whose line is this one
with no name before the semi-
colon?

This audience participates
and encourages
the foot-notations.

Closed quotes leave no
space for interpretation.

Where have all the dial tones gone?
Open lines have all been taken
for granted.

If we pretend we appreciate
the little things,
will all the bigs things
call our bluff for the
precarious positions
we attempt to balance
all our collected hopes
upon and continuously
adjust our appearance for
others real life,

meanwhile,
erosion is always itself,
revealing.





Painting by Odilon Redon, c. 1696  [Public domain].

Forts

Broken down, the All
was noplace, collectively
rather-scattering
That there is no longer
meaning
there is no there there
no such thing as a moral hunter
there will never be
a thing
that is
wholly itself alone
and shatter-proof. 
There was nothing to see
that would help us
recognize entanglement
as a knot to be undone. 




Artwork by Salvador Rosa (1615-1673) in Public Domain. 

Over hear

I know it looks like
that
but things aren't always as
they appear,
Projection like protection
is from another layer,
a down souljacket, feathered
to deflect harsh elements
that pour in mammalian pores
poor us,
it is not like smell
is a choice, or to touch and not
feel they all are
trying to seem and seeming to try
but not really
the application of.
Polished is not
unblemished but accented
by the distinct lilt of singed seals
in the air, where a voice trembles
as it is shattering the still morning air
by spidering the panes at connecting
angles, a jade of view
wearing purple dawn under 

muffling mists.
What to where,
is unpredictable
with wisdom or sense,
like accessory,
essentially we look away
and close our ears
to shelter the self
under the breath.





Painting by Eugene de Blaas (1843-1941), 'The Eavesdropper' in [Public domain].

Unfinished forms

The turned ankle
at this angle
a jaw line, the hip
parabola evocative of
obtuse angles and petals-
or leaves could be open
to holding light in colors

the movement blends
on the page, the note
hangs on the sheet-

precarious-
ly awaiting harmony
of echoes like blur and hum
where sound escapes crashing
into narrow canals, omitting any
consonants collected in the
folded corners

melt and fade under the sun
goldenrods spearing silver weeds-
maybe shadows will go there
and settle in

to stretching the fibers
into a conversation with object
and subject
interrupted by
chime and shape
to fit in

the picture would never

what it was
only what could be.





Image by John Singer Sargent, Study of Mme Gautreau c. 1884 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Listing ships

Had I been listless,

Done. Nothing To Do

for lack of wood pulp, or would

and pulp,

for want not to float upon 

facades, skirt on edges, to not

feel the marginalia and rip rap

hit the sides,

holding back

the body,

there would still be 

an attachment to enough rope

to go around.

Without implementation,

rudders, or other such

contraptions

to head our aim, ply and slog,

drifting

is all that is done right.

To go on 

observing instead of 

commanding, holding 

on to the rails

with fingertips and first

knuckles only, lightly

the self adjusts

trading winds

until all seems leveled

up, like glass or calm

glimmers that dance,

smoothly this rock

glides underneath 

carrying its own weight

violent and jealous

of the flotilla holding up-

right for a fragment of time.

There was nothing left

To Do. 

Painting by J. M. W. Turner, 'Rough sea with wreckage' (c.1840-45) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Post

After moving
around
this much
it is fair to suspect
that it takes more than
             one year
before we feel a place
is our dwelling.

After loving
two liars
too long
it would be cruel to conclude
that white promises were
                                purely made,
or that honor does not fade
                               when exposed.

After giving away
our time
so freely,
it is common to become consumed
by generosity and lacking
                              surplus or seconds,
starvation is written on the bones
of the donor.

After writing
all of these
                   words never read,
there is learning
                    in letting them all go
and watching them
come back together
                    long after
they have sunk
in, disappearing from sight
and causing a subtle
                                  displacement
After all.




Painting by Mary Cassatt, 'Young woman in a black and green bonnet looking down', c. 1890 in [Public domain].

Plywood windows

If I could wear soft and loose clothes
every day
                and be taken seriously,
forgetting for a moment
that comfort is for lesser creatures,
I would be less ill
                              at ease
and more sensitive to
zippers and seams.

I lost a drinking habit years ago
and found every thing
                                    sharper with age,
which does not clot the
bleeding, or numb the
site                     I remember I last had it
with me,
my cups are bone dry since this thirst
has all
but evaporated
making the air thicker around me.

If I found a diamond encased
in every silver lining,
                  carbon acting under the pressure
                  of those that have convinced me
                  to forgive
                  in these conditions
                  with sparkles on top,
I would have tasted love
                  on the rocks,
and choked on the hardest facets.

Time is our only personal property.

In-kind, community property
has foreclosed upon the pearl gates.
These lips have been boarded up
to deter any passer by's
                                       from dwelling.

It may not be safe
to live this way
without proper uniforms,
window dressings
and with naked wrists,
lacking a steady leg to pivot upon       
                             in order to see things
as they are
and find slighted contentment
enough of a shelter and shield
from monsoons and bad moons rising
every weak day.




Photo credit: Carol M. Highsmith, Kinney County, Texas. 2014 [Public domain].