Here is where it all starts.
Stratus
Dollops of whipped ice crystals
are suspended from the sky, a mobile
in God’s childhood bedroom.
A minute body heeds the weather’s tale,
fixated by its allure.
The troposphere looks ahead,
not at quilted lawns, but at a new land
with clouds coasting timelessly
toward the lisp of the ether, cascading out
of Earth and into starlight.
does God hide behind clouds so human wars don't intrude on His atmosphere
When the World Dies
When the world dies, the pigeons will be there, their intelligence shimmering like the old sun, pushing their way through the city, existing among the carnage of end.
My day is your year
Forget the frayed ends
Footprints always disappear
Time is something always spent
Love is forgiveness and marrying someone you know is dying
The more you live, the more relief is found in mundanity.
The street washer turns up every night and scrubs the street gum with a janitor’s mop. Nobody notices, but someday he might be gone. Then things would be so tarred, the asphalt would turn into a river of sunken cars.
So starved I look diaphonized, I think this relationship you’re scarf-wrapping me with is the hurtful type of symbiotic.
If you can feel my heartbeat, you're too close.