Monday, December 19, 2016

insect's clock

fixed eye on the beetle’s fragile flight
announced in the air briskly
hind legs arched with all their might
and a protective belly
still pulsates its opal mystery
across the living room to a window

shortened route to a sheltered grave
its wings still defy
a shell, engine and its swift soundwave
still timidly high-pitched
if only it could beat its wings back
and learn how to reach
the solid armory from a long-past breath

as long as it avoids
nights filled with sleepless whims

and days shortened of their death.

a sliver of scenery

I thought of a body stretched across the pavement
breathing distracted by the wide picture skywards
waiting in its own terms
for a limb or two to be crushed into stone
without pause or resentment

communication with the world
through touch and tongue
or skin and bone
under clouds’ shadows to hold
a stare overgrown
like weed through rock for miles
stitched along the road

I felt a body stretched across the fabric
two hands, two arms, twenty-seven bones
and a burial of seeds
for lilies untold.