Mother Waving

 
from mind of mine to you,
Ocean, my
                Mother Waving
                           within this sphere of light upon the surf
                                                       in broken lines shining
                                                                             shining upon the shadow’d crest of edge of tide;
as flow these crashes, tumble’d, come
                               lightning caught in fever’d gulp of wave
as though
              as though
                            as though breaking to be broken from the breeze of buoyed, blister’d Moon

if i could turn around

if i could turn around
                and turn around                                                                                                                  i would
                        to see your frown turn upside-down                                                               i would
                                                        in quiet rise of corners’ creasing skyward-bound, i would

all/everything

all/everything
     is but a foremoment
                 in thought
                     forgotten,
                     and remembered,
                     and forgotten;
        though you,
                 you remain,
                  you..

the fan

dt-dt-..
           the fan ..dt-dt-..
           breaks my ..dt-dt-..
           thoughts apart, ..dt-dt-..
           counting You, ..dt-dt-..
           innumerable, ..dt-dt..
           in sight ‘n’ ..dt-dt-..
           ‘motion’d heart; ..dt-dt..
           these thoughts, ..dt-dt-..
           falling, ..dt-dt-..
           in happened stacks ..dt-dt..
           are layed ..dt-dt-..
           on nerves ..dt-dt-..
           from toe to ..dt-dt-..
           head’s back..
                               dt-dt-..

wake from shiver, Memories,

wake from shiver, Memories,
as you be fully-made to master
sweet-lovely sea of skin;
as though you pilot Thought in
surging wave receding ‘pon
these morrow pillars pearl’d;
with short rub of root’n nerve:electric,
ever-fumbling is your way from light to dust

if these words

if these words,
these
        manipulations of breath
             placed upon the lips
                       and let sift through translucent kiss/
                             nagging peck at back of thought..
ah..
if all i had were these words,
          would you still see my worth
          or would you cry and cringe
          as though a begging loiterer
          i have become through inverse’d sins?