Sometimes Genius, Sometimes Fool

White Absolutes And Avalanches

What blizzard is this where in a globe,
safe, beautiful life inside found?
I move at my pace as it rages —
apparent but transparent
contributes nothing to synergy.

Inside grows a mass, outside
cascades of shattered glass,
continuous crash — only melodic echo
in heart accord walking a white cave —
insulated, awesome. No distress.

What is this world on earth
that only knows me, speaks nothing
but whispers of white avalanches
shaping a crown for my head,
frost cooled for a happy fool?

I trudge, in soft pale drifts
from morn until moon-lit night.
Echoes of whispers gap pulsations
of harmonic warmth, a soul’s breath.
I inhale safe in a globe of death.

Why should anything live, if life
supplies rhythmic storms dissonance?
Any tempo I decide, skate-dancing ice —
suck your stabbing icicles sent,
returned disguised in warm blood.


It means absolutely nothing and yet
arrives as messages I can’t absorb,
thick head of frozen matter.
I’ll have mine shaken, since death-stirred.
45 in Mono suits nostalgic induction.


It’s nothing. Nothing inside.
No parts move. Zero and gravity-less.
Graph plot start point smudged —
blizzards slinky cylindrical columns inert.
A door installs on the back side.


I really work hard at nothing. Sates.
Do you not move after life ends?


2.27.26
Yes, I’ll have what I’m having. Had it.
Obtuse never goes out of fashion,
tags as something else
with a 40% mark-up.