Patterns

illicit gifts sent inconspicuously
planted within a child’s willful wonder,
positioned as a delicate inversion?
Is pain of loss held sway,
an examination of the entire screen,
meshing process – straining nuance,
commoditized, offered in prayer and digestion?
Does the reflected prism spread wide in rays,
or crystalize it’s vision into distillation,
like shedding light in dark spaces between,
offering payments of past?
Out of Sorts With Being in Sync
I’m looking to simplify but not dumb this down,
to crystallize the flow of light in tones of sound,
into something we can move forward with –
more tangible than the tics we’ve developed
and more sensible than rapid response –
an instant aggrandizement of position,
positioned on edge in blurring fields
on the slope of crumbling ground
Some burgeoning fantasy quest develops
across toasted slopes and though spring flowing shade,
into murky dusk and down into night fire –
on through the pricked points of thousands
simultaneously broadcasting code onto the path,
laid out with a mirage of muddied water,
littered with signage,
marking confusion away from established boundaries
into a just pattern
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