arrows of retribution.
The mixture of an ant,
a canine, and a snail.
a perfect circle
with angel wings.
growing above trees.
A vast coiled aqueduct
topped with a cloud luminary.
Unspeakable monuments and clefts.
Vast profanities obstructing the daytime.
Time recycled in a bin of wisps.
Curtained threats of storm or dreariness,
passive-aggressive with the muted expanse
Tremulous vectors of discomfiting reflections
behind wheels to steal metal barges.
Brain-factories of pink anxiety.
Escher is born to my upper left;
behind me Dalí plants a cauliflower palace.
To my right, an unnamed bodhisattva
roars with unrequited haiku.
In front of me, inexplicable Octavio
boards a ship of shadow
and wags a gnarled finger at me
while his furrowed brow jubilates.
Ribbed conches of opaque glass,
soft eels blinding in their evanescence.
All the appendages of a shark with no body,
still loyal to their imagined master.
The sea-foam from a dolphin's dive,
yearning for the moment to be resuscitated.
Oct. 13, 2018
I. — "Cloud Atlas"
II. — "To Be Somebody"
III. — "Let The Sky Fall"
IV. — "Time"