red piercing circumnavigation

recollection                                                                                                                        repetition

                                                one in the same

one backward

drenched in ghost silk

a floral pattern of childhood

                                                                                                                        the other the nerves

                                                                                                            the stretch or known as the

                                                                                                                        coming into

                                    the night of sirens

haunts                                                                                                                       

the sweetest darkness                                                                                   

causes the retranslation                                                                       

hypothesis                                                                                                           

                                                                                                                        continues

                                                                                                                        the sound

                                                                                                            plagues the inky filter

                                                                                                            catches you up in the round

           

                        the machinery circumnavigates

the latter feeds the former through the frosted fluorescent spots in winter blackness

                                                                                                           

Hillsboro Road

A fire truck pounding like a steam engine through the rain on a narrow city street

No breaths or wavering

But the movement sends shudders and makes gutters

Of water pulsing into rivers following the flashing truck

Like it’s also rushing to aid

Or save

Like the water from a rock when struck

Or a side when speared

In a similar way,

Dark eyelashes splayed against a fair face in white morning light

Show the same complexity

The same unwavering of pursued

goodness like the rushing truck

But in unending softness

For the unnamed broken

For me

grace

It’ll stop you in your tracks

then

The causation equals likely to

Dry mouth

Like a mausoleum

Containing frozen words that bite

Metallic but quickly dissolve to dust

As the interior folds in on itself

The space

Getting smaller and smaller

due to articles

objects

an infrastructure

of a certain fragile fiber of the foil

The master sifter with his sieve

Collects the almost implosive particles

Trying to hide and disguise and

Tell of the reverse that’s already been won