Transcendental Energies

February 17, 2018 ~ Piece, of the Sky

art you can't anything

message in the bottle excerpt:
Shipwrecked on a tropical island.

ETERNAL RETURN

streams of ants
flow beneath my toes,
I look up
and am stained with raindrops,
the palm fronds reach above me
and crown my point of view

I run and leap,
the kinetics of my body
clicking and clacking
with the cogs of the universe

I am circling, like the glass,
the frozen, lightning-struck sand,
the obsidian, the blood
and the ice which forms
the serpent between the stars,
biting its tail
in the darkness, I see it;
I see the fiery wheel,
the universe’s grinding gear,
I rocket toward it in dust

matter is cycling in and out
of infinite time and
I am going to and fro,
doors opening, doors closing,
recycling, retracting
restarting, rebuilding
un-crumbling, un-sinking,
reliving, remembering

ultimate reality

Empty House

January 22, 2018April 6, 2018 ~ Piece, of the Sky

we're too different

Wilma had entreated with idle oaths, but Ann’s mountains could not be moved. On that damp day, with spring’s first rain coating the windows, Ann had broken up with Wilma, fragmented their dreams of going to New York together, unleashed a storm bigger than the one that lashed the shingles of their house.

With a little foresight, Wilma might have predicted this. She might have seen how frayed their relationship was during the Christmas party at Ann’s parents’ house, Ann’s elastic definition of Wilma’s presence to her mother. Wilma might have clutched at any straws she had left, wept, held on like sea lice, on the back of a whale – but she did not claim that right.

She sat on the sofa, as rain made its voyage into the gutter, stared at the lamp and the coffee table, in the now silent and empty house.

when