#3

I

Today words should burn,
trail scented ink to scrawl
charred phrases where oceans churn
and remnant echoes fall
beyond the spectrum of our eyes -
let dissolution claim the wise.

Broken bottles, scattered rhyme
build a metaphor of clay,
voiceless, empty glasses mime
spurning immortality,
a breathless hour where paths diverge -
but all that rises need converge.


                       II

Trailing abstractions, meticulous plans
And lunacy in chapters of confusions,
Of rearranged landscapes, unlikely Pans
Wording hours temporary with delusions
Where particles of poetry or prose
Pulled us towards the same black hole, were sought
With irreverent gravity or caught
Within each eventful horizon we chose;
Swarming words at play, shaping moon in flight,
Unstructured forms torn with delight.

This infinite point where all cultures collide,
Where rainbow snake and midgard serpent
Align towards uncertainty and call each tide
To sing this dreamtime’s pibroch, circumvent
Time’s fragile arc which walls this little sphere
Unbound beneath a waxing moon. I’ll call a truce,
Weave fractured text now words have little use -
Clutching thought and memory ravens veer
Dark winged, bright beaked, upon this forming day -
A wine bloodied sun rises upon cacophony.