Crashing cadence, coordinated but uncordial,
uncontainable and casual, casting cascade casualities in collaboration naturally,
factually irrational nationalists stock stepping for fascist restoration,
dissuasion of erasing the abrasion for the fallacies of past generations,
crashing discourse with carosels of calamitous cruelty,
damning destiny for desire of a perspective expired as though it were duty,
mires mankind for lolz astutely, loves a languishing foe,
unopposed to using false facts and unable to eat crow,
unstowable but stoppable, may be a constant obstacle,
but crashing cascades of waves are surmountable.
Small sparrow struggles against a loose leaf
beak against branch, whittiling away for a nest,
unresting, using its only resource for a fortune,
seeing perfection on this one attached sprig,
ignoring those that fell already,
knowing the pride at that one struggled-for piece,
a lesson to little hatchlings that some things are worth it,
expend more energy but are their own earned rewards,
because nothing worth having comes easy,
at least that’s what the living tell their kin,
that consciousness is precious,
because it is short, and you might get eaten.
She swirled in a whirlwind fire storm that fought all norms,
Disavowed unconformed commerce for other problems, got it, solved them,
She’s on to conduct, constructs, chatbots in cyber, quick wit, always slick on a cypher, tidbits, slips sacred sanctimony off antipathy in geometry, defies all logic and astounds me.
As a whirlwind wonder that wanders dust storms through encounters, of what I am grateful for is her countenance.
Something in their hearts
based on architecture and opportunity,
lofty lines that leave them listless,
longing for the lever that opens his heart,
not knowing that he penned it purposefully,
too torn to function the way it had,
too confounded to let others into its labyrinthine layout,
unable to alleviate the lessons of love and loss,
misplaced magics that mystics mistook for malice,
so potions and spells fell fallow,
improbable possibilities that never manifested,
the vestiges of valiance that fell to vagrancy and vanished.
There she stood,
Grace on earth,
A testament to ingenuity,
Brilliance in wood,
Simple slats tucked into each other
making a haven for every
inkstain remembrance and offered sacrifice
of pain and heartache and loss,
where a dozen tongues and rituals mixed
to make a melody of hurt and healing,
to offer spirit to even the most jaded,
the hardest of hearts.
O, Temple, you burned bright,
twisting tornado upon itself,
every ember an avalanche of emotion that poured in upon itself and flitted on the desert wind,
a memory of a memory,
an ethereal recollection that only lives in words and the hearts that walked away from you,
tears in every eye.
The spirit pilots
a fleshy ship made of
bone and sinew and blood,
every ache to navigate,
every psychic assault to put wind in sails,
It longs for freedom.
She’s broad as shore to shore,
hips as wide as America,
she shines, sea to shining sea,
loving a lost cause and hopeful,
falling fanatically for an abstraction,
half-baked idea that never fully form,
failing to see reality for the potential at the core.