Centipedes

boiling black
under desert sun

Trails picked up

lost
picked up
again

Heat
bearing down
through bare pastures
de azul

Hearse,
trotting
brimmed casket,
snakes wind,
crossing histories,
delicate,
venomous,
peering up from burrowed sand,
sinking
surfacing
sinking again.
At night, Ifrits sing.

undulating like waves

of oceans
in rhythm
with nothing
at its core
Material dances,
between
and of
each form,
blades of green swaying under blue skies,
footprints melted into snow,
red brick laid with grace,
green, as olive yet lime, bursting from shingled antique homes,
and The Explosion
Empty relief as we are pulled
in and out
of the dance,
Duration and its finitude
always in plural
but sometimes singularly expressed
The Explosion carves us out of the Dark,
enslaved to its light and waste.
We grow before it,
unseen,
unspoken,
but hidden in sacred myth
“Let there be light,”
and so it began …

green needles
sweeping off swaying limbs

Sun
hot
unrelenting
Shade between giants
dying undergrowth
shaking as squirrels dash up its body
leaps cross canopies
trembling wakes

Now still
cept for the quiet breaths
almost imperceptible
undifferentiated from lazy breeze

Glowing
metal sparkles in light
a white chair
blinding with heat

Behind
Before
this giant slumbers

a brief moment
centered.
revolving
en absolute black
spokes of colors
radiating across these water
words are spoken
in communion
silence replaced by solace
together under some stars
twinkling points
 en a field of darkness

The question, of
light or dark,
posed without words,
infinite excess,
or infinite possibility
of definition
or
Matter,
of dark nothings
or lit skies

Grey,
as we move in shadows,

spinning cores
and hidden folds,
there is inside each thing
a dark silence
without Being
And as the earth girates,
moments pass,
movements cease,
candles glow in peaceful night.

Matter,
aetherial immanated
without energy
unformed,
and then,
a spark
of movement and light,
casts shadows on the plane
suddenly,
The Bomb’s away,
de-centered,
expanding,
forms at play
composing themselves
of raw Matter
gravitating in worship
exploding wastes,
and in a light captured through
space,
temporal flows animate
hidden behind each tic of time,
shadows haunt as precursors,
 Nothing towards which all descends.
Matter does not know itself.
It is in light,
and nothing else.

Distance,
neither spatial
nor temporal
stars radiating through deep grey
stalks of wheat rolling in winds
sounds recorded playing from phones
How are there different things?
How do things differentiate?
Does a dog,
this dog,
know or even suspect
we are one?
Fires bloom across lands
earths
A president, or CEO, watches

---

A ceo, or president,
watches fires bloom
across the surface of this earth,
and as those flowers grow
they wonder if they can be seen
through the surrounding dark,
in this life’s final scream?

look,
listen,
witness us.
Born of explosive waste,
to explosion’s simulacra returned,
the executive’s hands tremble
as their cigar-ring sillhouette
gets blotted out by burgeoning pasture,
exhalation,
exultation,
ecstatic revalation!
Flashes on a stage
quickly expire,
but spectators witness that moment
as eternity
 and craft Flashes of their own,
releasing them
in prayer
A snuffed out spark
spasm
returns to shadows,
but for a moment,
light grew in the dark.

The executive thought,

is light only fleeting,
does dark always return,
and in their final moments,
dreamt a universe full of light,
and
a universe completely dark,
and wondered what’s the difference

Machine whirs awake

never sleeping unless
but very briefly
a momentary shortage of raw materials,
and constructs internal structures
from semi-persistent flows,
grabbing them out of void,
measuring them into existence,
laying them carefully and haphazardly
in relations

Surfaces emerge
above
below
above
below
and above
below
rhythmic layers inside machine
Forms,
like balloon animals,
inflate,
burst,
contract,
as if breaths
breaks
in currents
spinning orbs,
glowing flowers
bloom
 extinguish
fade back,