Up In Smoke, July 2013



not sure
if it was the metropolis
– and the jungles they hold
where we had roamed through
or the islands
within the same –
we felt alone among
thousands I could have
threaded on – not stapled
to my own thoughts of

failure focusing on

some other survival
the incessant sounds
attacking us louder
disorienting forcing

us on movement
or the far ones – in stillness
only the wind has a voice
stirring the waves to have
more and animals wild
eyes focusing off the horizon

squared lines confining
blocks or concentric ones
as the life rings on a tree
you count twenty eight then

call me out I found numbers
we had forgot – it used to be larger
green not the horrible burgundy
I shiver some on the island
we could hear the sound of
our own hair sitting close
animal’s life pulsing



2013-07-30 20.36.21

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