from fallen leaves to biomass
i see them as holograms
amplified-
sanity,
ink stains,
writer’s cramp
becoming obsolete,
replaced by mis-keyed images
and carpel tunnel syndrome.
oceans i haven’t tasted
evaporate
and then the air is new,
watering and unbroken-
the bowl of fruit
on a table with
one vacant chair is
a still life, an artist’s left and right eye, a cold
capsule with red and blue halves
existing together-
neither one a parasite,
the air full of water.
coral beds are uncovered bread
left out overnight.
seaweed is hay
bundled for cows.
my tongue does not know salt.
oceans are dry
and they are passenger pigeons,
and i will hold a mirror to the ground
and measure the sanity of the face of the earth.
and if it sees itself eating grapes while
mountains form,
then plain does not
recognize wheat and
i dangle these –
fully clothed –
from a watch chain.
if you will,
undress them with your teeth
and
go
slow.
space is forever but there will never be
enough room.