mundanity to master

de Résistance

The fall is a false-hood
painting us all in a stroke
so the genius of the sapien
went for naught when all its
occupants were caught in
the same scatter of light
the same spatter of life-
blood wrested and let

Angelic was the studio
pose for our promotional
portfolio for the ages
held to well past comfort
with little work an expert
turns mundanity to master-
pieces when given the sun
retro-graded values fade

A blind snake taking shade
upon the monument writhes
and marble crumbles what
succumbs in full to dust
how can we when we know
the fault is in the stone
move the mountain home
and chisel an original skin

Sidelong

Like medusa you could not
direct your gaze, sideways
your most forthright approach
the rope that connects you
to your quarry is charmed
and braided from the pages
of albion days and arabian
nights likewise broadside

Many would stand in line
for the teller not just any
epic but pure projections
of nights to come and days
where the straightforward gaze
wins as well as plays against
the geologist harvest of
rocks under every leaf

Does it hurt turning to
stone, or is it more like
being struck on the same
piece of skin that’s already
been flayed and replaced
the next layers can’t be
touched as the uncut
measure of us was

[she provides her own sunshine]

Always she carries purses,
a general store to-go,
although capable of fusion
for you see explosions
as much as sun, I am one

I am one of the eclipsed
lost in space between stock
taking and already sold,
inhabiting the vacuum
from layaway to paid

In full, I am capable
of her stellar and spacious
tricks but would not be real
like the bodies in the books
you looked in middle school

Having been observed, you
swell in sudden self-importance
but existing on a page is
once too far removed from
being part of her inventory

The flare has fallen, for
mere description does not
live beyond the scattering
my imaginings have stolen
the storm of her cosmology