CONTAMINATING

Today, you contaminate light.

Entering transparency, you scrape yourself on a twig, and become infested by a black-red blood that purges knotting, leafless vines.

Now, on your back - suffocating in a pile - you look up at the blue drops burning your eyes.

KNOWING

Today, you wake up. Sleep has muffled all but a shout that snaps open your eyes when it sparks the junction bridging thought and emotion - animating recognition - now swollen in an engorged knowing - now certain when yanked to the light.

HUMANIZING

Today, you wonder what I want from you.  --Nothing but your nakedness.

I want to see how your face consumes the sun. I want to see the particular thrust of your arms when they stretch toward the horizon.

I want to see the symbols you fire at the effect-end of electric charges, the spikes scratched by your conceiving machine, the stories you believe, and the action you etch because of them.

DOUBTING

Today, you grasp your felty pen - some baby magic settled between your ears like the plastic lightning bolt you once wore on your head as a joke.

And, you have papers - stacked, glued together at the edges, coffined by two boards, though still open on two ends - bound yet breathing, with leaky black thoughts nestled in the whiteness of whole color.

And, you want fixity. You say you don't, but you do - seeking a single pursuit you hope will hold you in a reverberating pool in cupped hands. Inside, you'd swim 100 laps, work at the crevices, and peer over tips dipped in flesh until night came just when you needed a float.

But, instead, you climb the mountains of your mind - holding tight to your dangling doubt - the only thing you trust.

And, you know what happens when the trusted is defined by its own treachery....  Winning loses, and, yes, you trust that, too.

SHYING

Today, self-awareness pulls you out of blood, onto banks of reflective flesh.

    

Observed love stakes claim to cliche, and dredges a heart-shaped path - hoping you won't notice, but you do, and distractedly fill its ditches with purple stock.

How does authenticity speak in a crowd? Must transmutation occur in solitude? Why not shape clouds in the city from the water you carry in your mouth?

Because you don't yet know how.

You only know how to return to the wood, away from the field where we count your seeds and align your production.

Hidden by folios, you apprentice the sun - growing mostly inedible fungi and weeds, but a few unique flowers - some that smell of blood, some that reflect the sky.

MANIFESTING

Today, you resume your world of thunder - mind-soundings set to wordlessness.

In gas trails and mounds of rock, you embed yourself - extending wide your arms - pulling the pattern toward you - urging the story to your ear where it enters your form. Its origin, you embody, mirroring its progeny with the designs of your hands.

Inlaid, the cog of you sees. An aware gromit, you spoon with your destiny.

Turning - the wheels of your mind iterate bodily shifts in the spell of a machine you inhabit and revere.