In a sea where mathematics marries intrigue,
I swallow water; you falter & tumble. Shapes
unwind into a subtle summer night, a shade more
desolate than twilight. Semantics swell and
swelter – teeter tweaked & helter-skelter –
sweating silver decanted into decadent
digits or symbols of new age.
A pause paws at meaning.
Polygraphs and polygons gone wild arise
in calligraphic style: glyphs of currents both brittle
and mild. Adjacent angles learn to bend, pounced upon
by dividends who profess varied faiths and ends with voices
fervent as funerary forces. The product of those prophecies
will be pale and poignant as the sort of fool’s
fire hummed only by marigolds and mandolins, or
the way light softly extends below hollow of bone.
This is another sum of soul, a world shaped in fits of song,
or so both chord and chorus predict – and such psalms
lend a lingual emphasis to lifted lips as words slip past focus
into pith. This is the brink of reason.
And still I do not think.
Disorder shackles heart to coal, a fluted tightrope between
our shaken futures and past. These are the heavier days of
longing, an autumn born of novelty and twisted theses.
Teach me something beautiful; show me all
the ranged unknowns that unite body and soul.
Make me whole, or take me home.