A Stable Song

Slow poems

I breed

in isolation,

like horses,

some strange neck of the woods cleared off,

the sawdust blown into the breeze,

remains forgotten

like the Heart itself, alone,

except in Song.

Resplendent Stars

I see

as holes alone

in the fabric of the twilit Sky,

Whose Essence

Time has grasped, and shaken,

deepened with the wilderness of black:

Twilight, old tomb

of ancient days

and future times.

Back to the ground, I clench my teeth,

the parasites chewing my gut,

doubt seeping through me,

fear flashing, coruscating along my spine.

I am pristine, an elixir,

a block formation, an army,

a pool of smithereens, of remnants liquified

by the blast and flood, the very rush

whose haste destroys all things

and lays the emptiness that's needed,

the foundation for only potential

out of whose readiness may spring, then,

some future

in slow poems,

and horses, bred.


East Vancouver