As/Is







5.22.2005


PUTON

To calm the fizz
her palms
spread on a table
close to vertical
take off through

much powerful
thought and
too much chasing
things she's never

caught

but startled
awake with
otherworldly
hints of the
farce

returning atoms
to her pulse's
core

where particles
leap fitfully in
tandem with the
fixed constituent
case of her flesh.

And worlds
dwelling there
are seeped and
sunken by the
shadow screws
spiralling

to horizon's
skewered window
of what is known
but in this moment.

A sole image
beyond virtual
just like the never
seen spectrum
ring of her spectre's

webbed to ribbed
perfecting cold mind
coolly analysing all.