i am bright with the breath of the world that was, a world that had not yet moved on. by my will in this when i turn did into does, so each sunset cedes space to a dawn.
let this be the kernel, let this be the seed; let this be creation, let this be the need. let the need be soon met and necessity served; let design be desired – and what’s destined, deserved.
there’s the one with jaundice, there’s the one with pills. there’s the one who’s consci[enti]ous. there’s the one the candy kills. we met us there on equinight, all my glaringhosts and i; down in the garden of petrified light i scrawled each screed from scream to scry.
so let it be written, so let it be sung: the field of a life is the fill of a lung. make me bright with the breathing of worlds without end, where pressure is lessened as presence is penned.
so break the window, then the screen, desk and room and space and seen; felt then, feared, then wished and wyrd. only then reflect, receive. only now be love, believe.
this is what the craft is, learning how to look. bear this and bare this and bury the book.