Stain
(why) can’t we keep
those leaky sacks of secrets
a splotch not-so-math-e-matical
why does he smear on himself
corroborations of age-old industries
manufacturing stigma like products
showcased behind bullet-proof expositions
it
does not matter what is hurled
color we are left with is the one we know
does she see this?
with
drops in her eyes of pharmaceutical clearness
rhetorical rhetoric, polls, surveys pile on me an uncertainty, a vacuous
pick to shovel with
something that is/was/is whole
why won’t we, he, she unroll out of it
that which in/is kennel
do only colors sully
stain
denigrate doll-up bedazzle stain?
Or are there other
far more dangerous things that never change.
Because We Can NOT
Precision & Harm cross their legs (one
foot on toes)
standing at the edge of Perspective.
do we/I move a w a y
or does He?
hand-wringing combat zones depict
EVEN BAD ART be powerful
Perspective in audacity calls itself us. an excuse for company
BUT for a m o m e n t everything says:
I where I am
He where He is & then
I move feel back but not in steps
more like rolling u’huh on wheels
He waves but I am not sure if
He is Precision or Harm staying at open gate marked 2
Perspective, a common coin, tosses
compelled to creation – pulp, drama(tic), rutted
Harm & Precision make-believe gratuity
lend rated labels or being stuck to (it) flicker of it,
<- N[M]<-B-> as in strips for air - to take off
I wait for fear & such to
turn its noose the other way
come back in smaller packages
everything stops at this.
He is now
at my right side removed
from
Himself
head in His hands
both immaculate strangers
retelling
past Perspective
Precision & Harm gird & crank the hilt
one after the other
it has been a long time since I left the 2nd
gate
Him standing at the edge
Me rolling back or is it was it the other way
Me rolling at the edge &
Him standing back?
I retell keep I’ll retelling it
ignite it’s fertility & perhaps something will occur
in the while, while I hold still
Altostratus & other Politics
something that points
(weft of muslin or water or propels)
up, down scours pages is it history?
no, something less precipitated
colorless I, me, we, us, me, me, me
keep repeating lumpy, piled – cumulonimbus
clouds with funny names still reflect
but how long can we stay here
till we condense backwards
& what if we knew that the Chinese discovered
America
would we no longer have Columbus day
finally admit that you cannot discover
that which has already been discovered
the mid layers, would we learn their tribal
names
tiny octaves of porous likelihood
glint in that sun that lights the moon
& stuff that skims what we call the sky
nothing is what is, what it ought to be
or suppose it is
& perfectly diluted
answers the call – up, down, down, up
a knee-jerk over (& out) spewing in the murk
a hush
yes
i
am
afraid
of
knaves
emperors
thieves
all that can be plural
trying
to reach the end of the same line
