breach the pattern

breach the pattern

 

internal effect

waits,

on gravel

 

wild chamomile is a weed

in the road, don’t

eat it,

it is tainted.

 

in each direction, the distance

misleads—The road

never narrows to a point.

Convergence

continues,

out of reach.

 

faces in vehicles–

barely a face–

zoom past, a moment

of round recognition

 

the high

speed mirror

carries part of my face

out of reach.

 

in defiance,

I carry in my palm

the answer to an unasked

question

 

 

 

a priori

a priori

 

not so evident in the boundary

of my skin

 

the dawn toll

 

a (mis) nomer

 

fed to the city noise

an other—

 

*

 

a ruthless calm

 

within the stagnant

fountain, miniscule

creatures move

 

they listen with their feet

 

all the manmade

hollows, the cobbled

secret, the causeway,

the dead wires

 

–vacancy

 

and nothing to fill it—

 

*

 

the dreamed incident

totters and tilts

 

(             how I do neglect

my origins)