Last Updated On July 15, 2020

 

"It would have made a dreadfully ugly child; but it makes rather a handsome pig." -Alice

 

 

I sit before a cold fireplace
While the hearth outdoors
Beats the pavement into
The evening a glow is cast
From a summer candle throwing
Carefree scents of honeydew and cucumber
Not unlike the body spray of youth
Triggering a small cascade of lit
Neurons in vague recognition
I hear a homebound fly buzzing
Lazily quarantined from room to room
wandering dully like a dementia patient

The dog eats grass only to vomit
I eat ice cream only to be lactose intolerant

Why do we say there are so many moving parts?
What do we mean when we say this while
Appearing to shift the baby to the other
Hip for bouncing.
Habit and appeasement
Is it that there is so much outside of our
Awareness but we still have the phantom burden of it
Are we peering through the looking glass
For something to eat or drink to make our
Insides better fit
Our outsides?
To end the endless morphing
And disillusion

What if the buzz of the fly
Rose like an orchestra and the dog
Vomited fields of lucky green
Clover and the magic candle aura
Sparked reveries of
Innocence and eyeshadow
What if the sun lowered like a bold
Orange belly lighting us up like
Gourd lanterns or shadow puppets,
Our silhouettes bounding effortlessly
Alighting the crust of the landscape
In eventual embrace of the lightning bugs’
Kiss.

So many moving parts.

 

Last Updated On July 15, 2020

 

"It would have made a dreadfully ugly child; but it makes rather a handsome pig." -Alice

 

I sit before a cold fireplace
While the hearth outdoors
Beats the pavement into
The evening a glow is cast
From a summer candle throwing
Carefree scents of honeydew and cucumber
Not unlike the body spray of youth
Triggering a small cascade of lit
Neurons in vague recognition
I hear a homebound fly buzzing
Lazily quarantined from room to room
wandering dully like a dementia patient

The dog eats grass only to vomit
I eat ice cream only to be lactose intolerant

Why do we say there are so many moving parts?
What do we mean when we say this while
Appearing to shift the baby to the other
Hip for bouncing.
Habit and appeasement
Is it that there is so much outside of our
Awareness but we still have the phantom burden of it
Are we peering through the looking glass
For something to eat or drink to make our
Insides better fit
Our outsides?
To end the endless morphing
And disillusion

What if the buzz of the fly
Rose like an orchestra and the dog
Vomited fields of lucky green
Clover and the magic candle aura
Sparked reveries of
Innocence and eyeshadow
What if the sun lowered like a bold
Orange belly lighting us up like
Gourd lanterns or shadow puppets,
Our silhouettes bounding effortlessly
Alighting the crust of the landscape
In eventual embrace of the lightning bugs’
Kiss.

So many moving parts.

Last Updated On July 15, 2020

"It would have made a dreadfully ugly child; but it makes rather a handsome pig." -Alice

I sit before a cold fireplace
While the hearth outdoors
Beats the pavement into
The evening a glow is cast
From a summer candle throwing
Carefree scents of honeydew and cucumber
Not unlike the body spray of youth
Triggering a small cascade of lit
Neurons in vague recognition
I hear a homebound fly buzzing
Lazily quarantined from room to room
wandering dully like a dementia patient

The dog eats grass only to vomit
I eat ice cream only to be lactose intolerant

Why do we say there are so many moving parts?
What do we mean when we say this while
Appearing to shift the baby to the other
Hip for bouncing.
Habit and appeasement
Is it that there is so much outside of our
Awareness but we still have the phantom burden of it
Are we peering through the looking glass
For something to eat or drink to make our
Insides better fit
Our outsides?
To end the endless morphing
And disillusion

What if the buzz of the fly
Rose like an orchestra and the dog
Vomited fields of lucky green
Clover and the magic candle aura
Sparked reveries of
Innocence and eyeshadow
What if the sun lowered like a bold
Orange belly lighting us up like
Gourd lanterns or shadow puppets,
Our silhouettes bounding effortlessly
Alighting the crust of the landscape
In eventual embrace of the lightning bugs’
Kiss.

So many moving parts.