Binariate on Edge
Softness of the Rays
Teeming with Apart
more of you want
less geometry than
I rinse your lawn,
fix things what will not
sing. change what resists
change, being as I am
wired to earn
my keep, your keep.
for our own sake,
the bake of sleep.
I walk without a metronome.
The cigarette in someone’s hand threads close to a safe inner darkness
Something that occurs to me is just a self along the path.
While hearing pressures non-conformance
to obliterate the lack of context in a sugar white.
She had a child, he held a child.
I welcome them to confines of a home,
within which each loses all sense (of direction).
In the ballooning of restraint, the adage goes unquoted.
In a moment we will seem another word for new.