Roses want facts.
The perfection of geometry turns them
Into origami beauty.
Wind has a science,
But breeze is also an uninterpretable art.
Your lips,
Carpentry measured and flush to my forehead.
Tag: written word
Stalemate
Sick blue saxophones see the thermal inferno.
He has said “I will never lose the true facts.”
She has said, “I will never abandon my corners ”
Music drifts to hell.
Where will they go in the silence that follows?
Aurora
I work to the tune of your aurora.
The floor wears away imperceptibly
as a woman whose dreams have
been munched by the wolf in her words.
The tundra of my inexperience thaws.
On the know-it-all breeze,
laughter that grips my heart
like a hand.
When the pollen heard you weep,
you were sainted by the grass.
Your greens, your purples.
Your lilting light that
whips through my space
like remorse.
Your song is dangerous,
damaging.
Mathematics and Art
Moving faster than math,
I ride the train to the city.
Lines, gradations, numbers.
So many nice colors,
Cool chaos,
The air slick with liquid nitrogen.
An ornament,
My education dangles
from the tree in city center.
In the reservoir,
My distilled ambition eddying.
Through the equation of church bells,
A garland of neon loss.
Which sun is silent, low?
The near one that blinds
Or the farther that fries?
In a clear city,
rumors
give you an inert art.
Miniature Moon 