Are a Fire of Damaged Contraries

are a fire of damaged contraries
to run their course, chained to plans
so they won't be melted away

woken up at dawn by the shallow dooms
the rumbling of gears on the street below

a clang of neon moon behind the branches
lives in the tamboural qualities of obstructing engines

the danger in the safety trench
creeps down the screen to suffocate you with
the heaviness of thread

feeling light, suddenly, for no particular reason
then the darkening of friends I love and need

as uncompletion as desiring is
to resist anything that describes or designs
the power of our affections

there isn't anything precise about it
like practicing without a sign

as if we'd been dropped off here
by aliens who no longer needed us

to the extent that we create our feelings
by the activation of our understanding
deducts myself from the articulation

is one of many ideas that peers uncomprehendingly
from behind the stacks of arrogant nightmares

but those were reeds along the banks of a northern flowing stream
the mind the other lane is
jammed with rusting cars and mud
as the eye is
the width of light God doesn't understand
language but 10th Ave. leads to a kind of repressed gatekeeper
cascades as consciousness in vision is a sham

he reaches out from the sun
not even close, think what you are losing
by constantly refusing
to dance with me

yellow light pouring into the room at 7:00 am
 

<^>