I. and II.


onus is on
        you       and
not     on        the day and its outpouring of 
        day       like perturbances
that    perch     up wild atoms
        pierce    bubbles
of      warmth    reveal
        shards    of purple and grey
the     onus      is on
        you       and not on the day.


a wretched soul stands at the nigh end of
  my peripheral sight informing
  when it can, oftentimes the informing is more than a nudge, a push

a tattered visual traces the contours of
  my unbeknowest nook of conscience
  where not content with being dusted out, it jumps, at times all too

a broken form, a splintered one sits in
  my innards, reaching out, reaching in
  knowing it will see the light of day if not now, then perhaps some other