Equines
One really ought to start with the beginning, only it goes so long back
That it is impossible to remember.
I remember being born, but that was just an interlude, cold and
Unpleasant and being kissed by strangers.
I like horses, but that has nothing to do with my inception.
But then, was anyone ever born,
we are just a part of a bigger
A broader picture where we but an unconscious number
But I do like horses and would have loved galloping across some
Grassland and jumping over brooks.
And now we have emboli fever, which is either over-hyped,
Ten thousand dead by September, or is the new plague coming
To reduce our number, I would like to be a horse.
I wonder if the USA will ever be able to live for a whole year
Without starting a war somewhere
Categories:
emboli, absence, abuse, america,
Form: ABC
We should kiss or else I will light the whole world on fire
You said with a heart not only I could admire
Why should I limit myself to two options
When I could have both and rid this world of unholy concoctions
Why don’t we kill two birds with one stone
Use the fire to create a path to your throne
Look down upon the ashes of competition
The hierarchy you made, victim to abolition
what do you see in my eyes?
Do you see right through them, a heard of disdain
Or do I cover them well, reflection masking the pain
The day is better ending with you
You shown up late to our rendezvous
Should’ve known better to show up late
February 14th would be our final date
There was no masquerade to our choreography
you’ll be the first I reference in my bibliography
Dance around the fire exchanging visceral looks
Let my fingers trace your body and rediscover some nooks
You breached the walls of comfort,
almost an emboli
Never imagined I’d get this lowly
Categories:
emboli, 12th grade, angst, anxiety,
Form: Rhyme
(In the 17th century, when thinkers
were first getting to grips with gravity,
they named it "kindly inclining".)
Seeds adrift on water
coalesce:
fueled by affinity,
they form a community.
Last pearls of wine
combine:
electing against space,
they cling to the curve of the glass.
Berries stain the fingers
that rupture them,
their plasma clasping the hand,
rather than leave unthanked.
We scraps of matter
are emboli,
swimming in Not-Being.
An impulse in the void
coagulates our Something.
Swathes of stellar gas contorting,
slab on slab of basalt pressing,
horses on the hill cavorting,
algae in the swell fluorescing,
ospreys on a rock face nestling,
children tumbling and wrestling,
matter moves to matter.
We are starstuff all,
and motion is our purpose.
We are aided on our journey
by the steady pull
of starlight.
Categories:
emboli, science,
Form: Rhyme