Tundras of Tears

Tundras of tears poured
conflagrating inward.
Where outside of my eyes,
a frosted window, a cat’s tail
and marble as my footing.
I have turned the orange
light to blues and in so doing
have turned my eyes
ephemerally to flora.”

 

Pulling herself from the water,
her stories all dripping from her skin,
plopped upon her every step;
her palm to page is the rock she’s
propped upon as chapters glissade
in collages across her river bank –

The Girl stood firm
against the forest’s shadows,
her hand to visor against the sun
she bends at knees and hips,
surveying the horizon…
“From me all seen
the directionless,
my eddies are burning
the boxes.”

Her palm open and flushed
against the wind, straight backed
drawn against the waters…
“Fuck it,” she says,
“I’m getting wet.”
Across the river
there rests the ceiba trees
cloistered as background
noise and almost gone,
almost swallowed by the garden.
“Down the hatch!” she rustles.
The forest circled.
Zero tightened against her fist, fingers slid
in a grip across his shin, her calf muscles,
his thigh in her teeth, her mouth opening
his lips now moved to a moist parting
and now –

all Zero can do is smile,
You are the only stone I can’t skip!” he spouted.

And she kisses him all ink and letter
lipped dripping with consonants
and the hipbones of phonemes.
Hand held they
drop,

crouching,
arrogantly and leaping
with an uppercut to sucker punch
the tree’s branches smilingly yelling in unison,

Fuck you nature!”

Zero bare footed against
the climbing rocks,
shawled between his sun
and his shoulders.

His chapters
aching against the slow
waves one finds
in these quick forests.

No magic, only geometry!” Zero huffs
only words, syntax.” The Girl spatters
Idioms, expressions!” Bellowed both as

backwards, back lit, against
the sight of boulders
rocked slight against their current;
dense in its distance,
far even off the periphery
a moment opens; the streams
begin to rush, as the rivers rain
upwards.

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The Mutual Arising

“Begin their mutual arising;
as they breathed so too grew the trees;
so too the sun spoke
in exhales of their increscent breaths…”

The Girl floats
done-this-my-whole-life-smoothly
and shouts across the water at Zero,

“No matter how deep this gets, ya’know,
it’s just more of the same. Same. Same.”

From cross legged
on the shore,
like the tail
end of inertia,

Zero jumps.

“Just keep looking,”
he jubilates,
“only nothing can stay
the same for very long.”

Zero and The Girl stretched
their methods upon the bank,
within the dust
encrusted over shoreline.

The wake distending
broken upon the mosses;
a provocation of eddies.

Zero watched high
about the trees when red
beaked against the leaves
snapping up bugs, crickets
the size of chimneys, dipping,
driven to beak-dive,  the bird
plummets to pluck polliwogs
and froglets from beyond
just the shoreline
in perspired pockets of pond water
squishing between Zeros toes
the brash bird lands,
and bends in for the nibbling…

Hey!” cried Zero,
try bittin’ your
own toes! See
how it feels!”

Cro nipped a final
peck against Zeros
knuckles and hopped
to toss some
lift across his ankles

squawked

and propped himself
from shoulder, to head, to
shoulder.

Across the rocks
The Girl postured
the flattened billow
of her fist
cocked back
suspended above her head she yells,

“Do I strike?!”

But slick like a joke
she’s back underwater.

All fists flailing and kicking currents
now bobbing
just chin deep and she yells,

I got em!

She spins her inevitably
soaking sibilants
and spits,

“That’s what it gets for messing with us!”

The Adventures of Zero and The Girl

“Sonder a moment…

The Wondering Metaphysicist…

The Chrontortionist.

The Changeling.

Your Ignis Fatuus.

They seek a geometry of conjuring spots.
A collision of collapsing corners.

Walls fallen; they paint the air.

Growing now dense and thickly
stitched within the gaseous
dance of the innumerable dead.

They seek the ancestries of eons
lain beneath the consistent constriction
of gravities deepest impressions.

For they found the trees had
grown into rock.
For they found the flora had
compacted into momentary stone.

As they scathe the time between the burials –
between the tribal arisings – they scavenge.

They seek the relevance in distances,
of the times between us.

They seek the metaphor at the yolk
of nature’s virtue –
the collective distillations
of the human expression.”