Image #001

Never imagine life linear;
never perceive a spiderweb world,
strings running everywhere,
roads bunged with snow,
awash in June rain —

never, never, never expect
anything but the misty froth
of memories bumping against you
like distracted shoppers
in an overcrowded mall,
where direction is
as aimless as electrons,
photons, a half-second after
the big bang, twenty minutes
before closing time, a thought
before the open door blast of.

Time

Because you're here,

then is problematic,

the way doors in motion

might be...either-or,

open-closed,

exposed or persona

clamped tight,

a death-lock on time.

Three urns beneath windowsill
in this house, sun set bottom
left, east/west, west/east....

Perhaps by attire, how dishes
hap-hazard write the kitchen table, time....
Conversations surface, dive, dive, dive!

Forty years are strobed onto
smoke screen, each moment falling
from the imperfect linear —

and these arms (one in shadow)
are feathered into empty/full —
sunlight through an open window.

Capricious woodlot vine
slices light windershin —

passionate drama with
bluejay chorale.

Dusk diminishes and jells —
the innocent leaves.