Summer Bleeds into Fall

Green sears into red,

slough summer bleeds into Fall –

framed  season’s etched ridge.

Slowly smoking red

stains the corners of picture –

time’s brushed memory,

a moment smeared perfectly,

touch the rough edges, cut, bleed.

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Asemic Travel Guide – a glass zburg

Asemic Travel,

Guide to a glass zburg – baroque,

complex fortress whines.

 

Sip sweet glass spirit,

formidable burgundy –

tearful tongue haunts lips.

 

 

Lined slips of paper ,

drawn to memory, hanging –

a formal curtain.

 

 

Translations travel –

Asemic Artifacts shift,

meaning lags, ferments.

Read with care

Read with care these words written on the memories of trees. Get to the root of meaning as you leaf through thoughts obscure, spoken in the tongue of dreams.

 

How like a feather –

thoughts unfurl over night sky,

can you hear them now ?

It is not an example of a tree.

What can i do;
They like it.

Our stalks do not overwhelm the essential needs of forest breezes.

Bothering to give up deforestation, learning what is really attractive –
however, in the end, some governments now have “it” as a major part of the grid.

 

We offer the opportunity to share problems.

To find out,
Go to the other side of your bark.

 

Some of the land stirs –

lifting up its green fingers,

writes down year’s circle.

 

Clouds wash away cares –

now dry broken promises,

moist with sad regrets.

 

Born nearby, she takes water off for a part of surrender.

 

Tomorrows branch out –

lines twist , soft words drip down,

thirsty roots drink thoughts.

 

Tree bark wired to hard limbs

Tree bark wired to hard limbs

reaching cross gaps with needles

threading the eye.

Squirrel scampers green dance floor –

This wave of lines bends above heads,

scratching the sky’s underbelly.

Clinging to sharp corners

bent electricity –

a charge of green fire.

Such tough twisted tree skin –

year’s writing scraped paper,

whose words chattering bark.

Rooftop View

 

Emily Dickinson did not reside here, where leaves kiss shadows and eaves whisper about summer to the remains of grit that gets washed away in the rain of cloud convictions. Yeats never told her about the window that looks back at the reflected trees. So why is it that they seem to be waving at the camera in a poetic frenzy of twisting line breaks, like an uneven stanza, a stratification of emotional confusion ?

 

Here are Pareidolia Parasols

for high wire walkers

&

roof repair workers

in the bright sun,

as rays of certainty hurl down upon their heads,

with the verity of gravity’s grasp.

Unwanted facts, quickly approaching –

from the shouting horizon –

brings on vertigo in existential deniers .

 

Too much emotional distortion

rises in the air,

as the refractive index

causes truth to bend

when it enters and exists in opinionated thoughts –

unsteadily seated on peaks & gable corners,

angry convictions shout

at laughter running across the green lawns.