so is the earthquake /
swinging us to sleep /
shaking tinsel off last year’s tree /
jarring wax in the ear /
to return traffic percussion /
and emergency vehicle fanfare /
just the avalanche /
skating over our home peak /
scouring shingles to a roof of pearly whites /
ceiling smiling at the sun /
after the quiet thaws the mountain’s deep roll /
daisies and buttercups drink up snow /
and human melt /
another fresh day waits to be filled
where be thy stink, post? /
limbs flake off as unexpected /
breath pillows backwards up the tender neck /
and to talk is minor explosions life-wide /
keep the me deep in the “of course”/
winding through every escalated promise /
lowered from the cloud on pristine cafeteria plate
trik, trak, sint, however the world’s mouth holds sound /
that pregnancy pops up every decade or so /
a new world yells under asphalt, crimping a few rides /
for the most bodily part, anvils stop keeping rhythm /
the rest wear the cape of a concrete wind tricking veins /
shivering should sound creep into civil roots and find light
was never these place /
battle plan, furious neutrality /
planting weeds in neighbouring territory /
steering discussions into /
full stockpile collisions /
trafficking multi-syllables /
across landscaped lines /
leaving a lunch bag of /
combustible hints /
in the quiet room, a maw /
wide enough to cover an averaged day
bellow up from the transit platform /
was there really potential in 100 year old grass? /
perhaps poetry does boil societies to a bone /
not just poetry recognized by those of class /
strikes, cadence, clacks draining out over decades /
to be recognized would be insanity delivered by courier /
the collapse would begin by singing that song
language is all that is left untorched /
not only kick /
but open the unspeakable /
perhaps a wheel of fire /
in the sleeping sky /
as a new night lite
all effort becomes a long list written over different leafs /
resist lists, they only count down to death conveniently /
ideal for actuaries assigned to the case and those dividing /
eternity into tasks and strikethroughs that revolutions ignore /
measure universes with shovelfuls, disturbing dirt tucked neatly like a bed /
swing the shovel through the air until it whistles and breaks the bone shop window /
there is a continuous rhythm in the coloured shards blinking in the mid year sun
should gauze fail to hold /
lick said wound with kool-aid tongue /
memory is an organ /
rattling in the messenger bag /
wiped down each morning /
with scented wipes, lemon and thyme /
my fingers are numb /
from ringing the end’s bell /
let closing night be an overload /
of circuitry and rainbow sparks /
not a threadbare shroud /
thinning under uncommented pressure /
or should the sun’s controlled explosion fail first /
let that lead the service
we should concede that we are separate /
though we share air, the mouth’d breath that returns /
are hieroglyphs without a common stone /
those footprints in front of the yard are a myth /
so many vessels reclining into the current /
bobbing far from the rough catches of the shores /
arriving at a great pool, stirring finally in the swirl /
broken glass in a river is never seen, only felt /
sample moon that is the moon /
waiting in the wings /
most of each day /
summoned by a sincere mislead /
to anchor the scene /
with a marquee name for audience pull /
into an ill-lit audition