Pollen was heavy in the winds. We kept sneezing. Noses
were runny. I remember fire entering, an old associate, her math in a new scientist.
The gravity of the weeds, caterpillars eating leaves, tonight is both corn and
beans. A soul eats starches, a few vegetables, and a palm filled with steak. So
determined to ignore self—follicles filled with humanity, a wood raft in the
distance; a tender mystery in periphery, metallic smoke, logistics silhouetted
upon the walls; groping as it’s done, sunflowers beneath the sun, days made
restless for understanding—the chase of times, baffled inside, trying to re-saddle
a hunch. Hairline frustration. Refusal to see—as it stands in spaces, so close,
and further apart; (dreaming my dream, lost and found in my dream, restored in
my dream). Much transfusion. Captured on the insides of sanity, on the
outskirts of stability. Most savage souls—seeing as it happens—churned unto
inversion of self; deep soil, pebbles bled, sky spigots dripping causality.
