an otherwise uneventful afternoon



where the willow reaches

trying to collect gleaming,

where the ink thick shade

spoils daylight and is half

a king of hades



stir the page’s poem stir

the alive words they undo

their cocaine white masks,

and the ravine stared into

is quite wonderful



far into the mind’s autumn

horizons are awoken, how

the nib felt as it scored the

soul, undoing the dry, dry

riverbed



remember? when constellations

seem to pour, when the reservoir

was deeply invited with inspiration

no cloud could obscure or hide

such obvious reflection



and the room became a library

of births, verses built to the ceiling

and yearned to burst thru’ like a

committed seizure, like the expel

of hidden oceans all written



there’s a gull that slides thru’

the greasy air, past that tree

of hanging hair, a grebe knives

the interrupted glass, and spoils

the listener from dreaming


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