Monday, March 28, 2011

Between an occasionally well-placed environmentalist and an enduring rock

I slip on a joy – fully sightless
this dusk-dawn for an hour,
for an hour.

The blindness comes and it becomes
my better half, when I turn,
then I’ll turn.

I sip on the play – fully warmed, less-
steeped in it, for an hour,
for an hour.

The coldness spreads with its deadening
crystalline breaths, when I tilt,
then I’ll tilt.

I lip to a mind – fully fearless
haunts stoppered for an hour,
for an hour.

Wilderness goes with bewildering
waste, hand-in-hand, when I round,
then I’ll round.

I dip down the need – fully wantless,
in my wanting this one hour,
but one hour.

Listlessness sifts down from drifting
clouds, brown with ash. My bulk shifts,
their footprints lift.
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