no right angles here scraps of found lumber and steel embedded in rocks
The sky defines space... the trees' sinuous branches make their subtractions.
tiny insects float almost like wingbearing dust; what are they feeling?
sunlight like sunset's, pinking and golding the trees, but at five A.M.
Not a single word... no paragraphs, nor ideas... just pale nothingness.
some seabirds afloat; an old man and the grey sea; white surf on those rocks.
the sky holds eagles who spin and cry and hunt things and rest in treetops
northbound stairs dawn sun sacrificial soul
righthand turning brilliant daylight reflective meditations
downward view peremptory cloud empty thoughts
the world but
slumped posture plain wall cluttered mind
the banana slug rode into town on a car accidentally.
behold caveats, those which appear without fail... day in and day out.
So things are spinning. So how does the ground resist? So how can this stand?
two types of weather: rain and not-rain in combat... one of them will win.
Some suns shine longer On the blue cupric sea's bay. For example: summer's.
An unexpected crisis crafts doubts. Why this body's betrayal, now? How is the world so unfair? Can anything be done? Where is this going? How bad is it? Who can help? What if? And?
nothing stretches out, a metropolis of doubt, vast tracts of maybe
Maybe there's something, despite the rain, that needs to get done. This dull rain cannot prevent such tasks. Rain speckles the water. Rain is a constant. Rain cleans hillsides. Rain greets me. Rain speaks. Rain.... Rain.
rain on the smooth lakes, a Makaskan winter's fields, the loamy, cool earth
The last few days, the rain has returned. It's hard to find motivation. I make some progress with maps. It's nice to breathe wet air. Spots speckle water. The green trees bend. Insects fly. Streams race. Watch.
failure to compose: the meanings fail to enchain, no words trundle out
counting syllables is the way to satisfy this form's requirement