Small view I live my world through:
This cut-crazy luxometry, so plosive:
Twenty-eight you’s and me’s crash:
Wring colors into it: They’ll marry:
The same Patterns, same Matrices:
Their view I live my world through:
Light trapped alive in a wire cobweb:
Rectangles trapped in a well:
The same: I catch my views in the world:
Either/or cyclones, I wring with my hands:
Now you’re twenty-eighths: Colors collapse:
My small world of patterns and wires
little
contemptible
undead child-people
said the misanthrope to herself
like me
“Studies show attractive people
Are more beautiful than people
(Who think of themselves)
(As unattractive))
.”
“Using a scale of appreciation
(Controlling for this and that)
Confirms what we have always
Suspected
.”
“Beautiful people are (in fact)
Beautiful
(Whenever (and only when)
They (are) attract(ive))
.”
Affix
A permanence
Align the left stars right
Your cynosure in dark synod
Knells out
unchurched,
i want to leave
behind red stainedglass blood-
light and discover the wilder
tree thorns
Praying
Quick. My specter
Limps like one tough goat, goes
Beside me in His evening heat:
“Not yet
Not yet”
Then in the cool of His morning
I Am, my oldest ghost,
Acquiesces,
Says yeah
The men
Of hard science
Determined the silver
Spoon bent because many minds
So thought
It was lovely picking figs
And speaking with the cherubim
So perfectly palatable
Among sundry sweetmeats
Now, no moonward moth
No providential portent
No lux in the lantern at the lighthouse
Tells a teleological tale
Black, silken helixes
Crenulated ribbons
Of night in a box
Spill out, out, out
Pulsing globe
⨀ 