.
        it is a certainty
        not unlike the
        death of a guitar.
        its dawn surges in
         unbridled melody and
          it is so
           assertive - a
            descant of furious surety.
        its sound dims;
       slower now. See the
      melancholy of its
     realizations, the
    final
   capitulation of conscience;
  a soft stratospheric shriek,
 the solitary string quivering its
last.
        it is [...]

.
    i will
   conjure a cantar of
  spurious consistency,
   the texture of my text
    sifting through thy senses until
     thou know but its
      memory,
       echoes wistfully urgent - the
                          
         laughter of innocence in a
          garden autumn-blossomed,
                            
           the growing, the learning, the
    depths
            of emotion delved,
                       
             the striving, the weeping, the
              sudden joy in
               bewildered exultation leaping;
               the
    barren
   [...]

overgrown lies a woodland lane,
  the certainty of its
    straightforward march
      now
        asphyxiated attrition.
growing things,
  wringing breath by their beauty -
    lofty endstates throttled into
   settling
  descent
 of
imagination:
 repetitive
 recreated
   ambiguity.

.
  i smelled your sweat
 as though
it was blood
 cascading
  down
   the
    drainpipes
     of
an urbanized wheatfield
       bludgeoned
by the insignificance of
my passage.

I ate Japanese with an angel yesterday.

   Peter
(he really prefers Pete,
     Michael says,
          though I never quite felt right saying it
               and you can’t trust Michael anyway)
     came by in a lime green Yugo,
       day-old cold Maxwell House in his hand and
         empty Krispy Kreme boxes littering the back.
   I moved a white sweater vest to sit down;
     Itches, he gurgled through a sip.
   I [...]

   bits of shepherd hair lined the crevices.
   they ignored them,
       superficial twins sitting singly,
     the old sofa a material witness
       to the regurgitated conversation and
           increasingly insistent intent -
               the rescue of unacknowleged futility.
   bound by
       gold,
       fanciful words,
       undercurrents of once-rapturous zealotry
(now as illusory as the elusive embrace),
     mated in victorian pearlescent innocence
(picturesque [...]

the symphony of the desert is beautiful.
plunge into a
   coalescent thousand years of melody
      begat by beloved scarlet-gowned fields.
sighing sitar-painted strains of
   dolorous lacrimosal leitmotif.
labyrinthian memory unraveled,
   envoked for a season of thought.
choral-massed majestic
   living adhan of antiquity.
applauded, the
   brash brass passage of
      five-five-six;
thrilling, the
   thunderous percussive
      one-oh-two mike-mike.
refrain in endless reprisal,
   largo lost in [...]