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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.

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