|Andreas Achenbach, 'Clearing Up—Coast of Sicily', 1847.|
you the poem, begged a storm of limbs
as if you knew what was coming...
none of us did...even the trees
begged the dark skies
for shooting stars to wish upon
for exits to appear when
and where we wanted them to be...
the strafed glow of human lives
intermingling while so oblivious
at times to each other's presence
causes both consternation
and surreal fascination...
I am a selfish observer in this regard...
watching the death
of Schrödinger's cat, ad nauseam...
spending lifetimes as friends
and enemies with myself
as a dependent on birthright
and place for the structure
of me as the poem...
my flesh and blood follow...
verbs and nouns chased after
counted tamed and unleashed
here the poem speaks
as if my soul knows spawn,
flow, ebb and wane
are what humans do awash
in cycled sea and rain...