Author: G H

there is no write in the respiration of nature / bluster and thrum polishing holes over holes / colour sinking into the fall’s floor / that speak death well / frost pointed to an invisible pin pricking all our angles

and is today, today? low long makes for vanishing tides drawing away crumbs, scraps, shreds from the mouth waiting on the beach to draw up sea, at least the shimmer of the surface for conversation starter

set your children free to eat road salt and sniff quarry dust, post their electrolyte levels on windmill billboards, rate their freedoms rank and filed source open, erring on the side of capital optimism and how do you taste?

over under heeds siren’s wail, tail in mouth again consuming the world, spitting up a theory for the mind’s small plate, microwaves for colossus’s meal, hungry for everyman

the end is complete, blue jays return to greyscale, the moon turns away, waves bow down, snow opens the doors, whisky shuts up, dogs point to the cliff, and the heart that stopped, speaks finally

light is easy, it’s the tattoo of steps behind still thudding that should be the edge we sleep on, squatting for tomorrow

one finger for all lifting up litter passed down from generations of hoarders and garnishers, sharpen that gesture to poke a hole in filmy past tense, one root was not enough and here we tilt

silt, sand, dust, grit I say falling up to the bead of the eye I first opened decades ago screaming about the new air blowing up these lungs suddenly I see now

add a sun to the menu to scald the stomachs constricting bite-sized neighborhoods, wash the details down with a fined merlot tuned for a blinding toilet

melting upwards for the sake of a Newton, so sweet the earth’s filling, masticated exclusively for our plate, staring back like a penny on a dull lid