183

for a minifesto mini-series

a boat and bailing out this sun

friends for it

our shouting's joy

naked, duck, weave for it

bear the rubble

make the ways

the weeds run from the cracks to light

flowers drum their own

I am writing in a darkness

groan

that's the way it's been

once framed

leak through

a chimney is an accusation

time is gone

earth's sucked it down

kind of darkness you moss with

paper screwed, tossed

the fire might be the only truth

and after, wash away

once you find yourself in the pencil drawing

a tracing over or laughter left

follow a continuous line

once the fuse is lit

swivelling back, forth

the floor is moving

the ceiling

the walls

we are the stillness

but the eye

voodoo funeral

and all the lamps of the occasion

an endless petal strewing

the spirit soars

it is a lack of destination

bricked in for a sky

wide eyed

I know there's a midst of things I'm in

the singing – isn't it my home?

aren't there strings for joy?

isn't the body in the picture?

aren't we fleshing forth?

won't we grin, bear it?

grit teeth, spit?

and when I snap, sit up

the pillow for a sinking in

having somewhere you want to go in mind

wake from the dream to where you are

place to which we dreamt

self serious these hands hold

everything mine

and they

descend into prayer

last excuse past attention

how were we hunted

come to this

whose breath belongs

the robot horde of thought, decision

knowing why I'm here

the forms of a flower

are worlding light

the lift of wings

the leaf's brief flight

a firmament

might well be starless

we would never know