liminal

I.
What is transitive? Is it bound
to reason in

The same measure that water is
cause and affect?

Where is the liminal? Has it
coursed through

Far enough in the measure of
things transparent?

II.
When the reach of a top
soiled heaven

Fell, the arbiters of verbiage
called out to

My star – I swooped the stone
of the furthest

Recall naturally, and then
there was

Consonance

the three chimes of solomon

I.
Into spear, unto heart, be
Spectacled gear

Of interminables – do we
Hear the sunken

Do we bite into interminables
Hear the sunken

Into spear, unto heart, be
Tokened dear I

II.
This wedged becoming   slant
hedges

Cubbed by modern stone – I
axiomized

Atoms of chance and while the
preening

Tastebuds climbed out of a
native

Obscurity the three chimes of
solomon

Boomed a nice triangle oblique
obtuse

III.
Now I have seen the fallen
Tide I have grieved

The ball of heave / sighed
When the shrift of

Metal grazed each feather-
& I spun each tuft

Of harm in its spool – and
Each tremor of fall

Reached inside the whorl &
Ended the screech

I feed from many roots

ظ
I feed from many roots – graze
From the fulfillment of terror    I

Sleep on the minds of most dream-
Wary taletellers    I have not

Sung for a long time    I feed
From the boot of heaven – praise

The palate of uneven snow    I
Weep for wearyeyed woven wonders

I have not sung for a long time &
This grief eats whatevers whatnots

خ
We cut through the
mesh
midstream mocking

the hammer
   that settles upon the mereness
   of being   wherein what dissolves is us

this part of us that sticks to the grain
this part of us that rests upon mereness

my collusion

as depth of evening penetrates my occult skin, the
chance of another
chamber of netherness collapses – my colluded skin
visits every
pore of the improbable in
tenuous measure, in
tender macabrity, soluble in teaspoons of erasure

sound begins as rain

i.
sound is a poor approximation
of land    its

need to navigate is predicated
on three taints

of luck    sound begins as rain
ends as november

ii.
the attendant deep ogles my
orchard
its way
and begins to smell again of forgetfulness

the resplendent deep etches
my green
its way
and begins to reek of otherness, othernesses