Tuesday, July 9, 2013


I will paper your invitation
to the sky; universe your logic
and purple my memory of lost
satellites.  Once, I broke

the sound barrier; now I sand
time and wrinkle lost space.  Drip
the hourglass down, and smooth
the chutes of contradicting

galaxies.  How many light years
have spectrumed my appetite? 
I could eat consonants
whole, like M or B, swallow

the hues of my found vocabulary
and deliver unto you an uncertain
interpretation of Einstein’s
cosmological constant.  Complexion

me and blush to know: Here I am. 
Orbiting.  Never having left.  Conceding
gravitas.  Come away.  Gone never.
Have I and were we and where.

                                     ("Orbital" appears in Crack the Spine, issue 70)