Sometimes Genius, Sometimes Fool

Quiet Air

If I Had A Title…

If I had eyes
I’d look around this shared space,
see your easy smiles.
If I had ears
I’d tune into melodious notes of laughter.
Fit me for a nose
it would ascend nostrils,
drink in waves of crush-bean coffee-splendor —
baking bread expectant, in expansion.

All intoxicates a heart yearning existence, when…

a drunk fly haphazardly buzzes through our room,
braced by the 100-year, two by four walls,
floor by floor intersected —
material-dependent pipes weaving,
unseen through vacuums, void of memory,
divining sharp-turn-passages in perforate.

From fittings to furnace,
of life water chill to steaming,
haunched metal creatures prison-bolt
to the drained concrete foundation —
delivering in dank, in dark,
making all more temperate.

Careful to fine tune the soulless implements
and pay mind to a Goliath construct
with black-layered pate as canopy,
dispelling spillage from miles above —

dispensed cloud offerings
unfurl finger-tip nails
of chlorophyll-filling,
coif-photosynthesized hair returning,
as does a greening yard rug.

Specked eggs warm in nests,
lend to verdant arrival
in variant of octaves chirping,
in and out of the perpetual —
perceptible, given a brain encouraged.

Divinity is nature, is a good gas burner,
is a family spending time together
in any weather
where I consume all with nary a whisper.


2.7.25
40 lines

Just ‘cause I enjoy everything about us, but would rather watch the gathering with appreciation of all that contributes.

T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚