Walking, reflect on the cusp.
poem & images
Walking, reflect on the cusp
Syllables wish to discover their nooks
as rooks to find fresh ears
perch on poplar or alms or books
or siphon from mendicant-leers.
I found the arachno-cube, a diamond
of scalding fluorescent tears;
raccoons in the bin, the wind
rendered me wordless, devoid of fears.
An eerieness of the newly born
was washed upon my eyes;
how frequently we curse and scorn
beneath the garnet skies!
And make as if to build, but rend
the tendril-looming cloud—
and make as if to guild, but send
a prog'ny rugged-proud
to chase the rook, and the moth,
and the bat and dove alike.
E'en the meek become wroth
before the wide-berthèd pike.
Lineaments to plunder:
geometries to seize
until the king is rent asunder
with the rook upon his eaves.
April 30th, 2019)
poem and images
It was written late at night when I was in a nocturnal phase. I had just explored the walking paths near my new apartment next to the dense creek verdant-twinings, foremost of which (to the senses) was certainly the seductively cloying Japanese Honeysuckle in full bloom, which is considered an invasive species due to its tenacity. It smells absolutely delicious in a slightly uncomfortable sort of way.
I had walked all the way to the nearby manmade lake, where I found the most spiderweb-infested, bizarre gazebo I can remember. (You might want to skip this paragraph if you don't like spiders.) Webs with quite large spiders were everywhere around the upper perimeter of the roof, clustered around piercing fluorescent lights and lightly swaying in the warm midnight breeze. The lonely picnic bench in the middle was directly underneath a recessed rectangular prism with a very bright light above. Appearing from below like some otherworldly cubic diamond of spidersilk, it was an eerie sight.
I did not take any camera with me or I would have likely attempted to capture the scene, but I've had no strong wish to return there. I remember there was a desire to write something about the experience and I had a pad of paper with me. As soon as I took it out with a sharp pencil I just stared at that empty grid hopelessly. The utter inadequacy of verbal technology smiled at me from those yellow and blue lines, and I quickly returned it to my backpack before walking home.
Later that night following a short meditation, this piece spilled out. The sky really was garnet that night: a sickly greenish-red, choked with yearning fingers of smoke desperately grasping for some kind of redemption for humanity—and burning with the triumph of ignorant particles destined to disperse.