Was It

Within the murky amniotic black
Fluid airs swayed; sort of like lights
Refracted through disturbed liquids
Reflected onto a surface,
They met on the deserted promenade
Lined with stony rosette bushes
Shaking in the eldritch wind,
Never really knowing
How one felt
While the other
Knew full well.

Where figurations suddenly appeared
Then disappeared
Just as quickly as they’d shone,
Questionably dispersing
Bursts of warmth along with them.

But up, up, one flew, with the highest of hopes
Towards such fleeting stardust iterations,
When they assuredly grew too close
To glorifications in the heavens
Where the lesser, they saw
Nothing had been
Really there

Since.


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Nothing

A nightingale dives towards
mined florescent fluorite minerals
as it curtails its wings
to change its trajectorial line
to land on an approximated piece.

It twitters songs of glib connections,
with its eyes of inverted concaved florescence,
of the artificial and the natural,
of ludicrously unblinking lids.

A glass sphere of optical filters
emits ultraviolet illuminations
prior to the dusk and dawn
of one star and one fixture; redux.

While it would plead hopeful,
aghast, on this storied planet
of ridiculous magic tricks.


Embraced in Dream Beds

I sit
With the light switches
Turned down.
I count
For every 1.5 seconds.
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten.
I watch my eyes slowly adjust
As blackness fades
Just a little
From vision
As I listen
To the music
You listened to
Last night
And I feel
I almost feel
Like you are close
Like I could touch.
Like you said once
In moving images
Of us
Embraced
In dream beds.