I am undone with a sequence of dreams and a trip over tiles spelling _OUR_ON at the corner of St. …

In loving memory of Brandi Scanlon — I scour the halo from my bones in denial. This ending of yours comes unbound from the pages of Marvel, where we’d scamper the waywards of New Orleans to ride mechanical bulls and squat on thrones. I am amiss in the stream of a wildfire on this laptop atop photos…

beyond some lipoma —

tinged gossamer-like ambrosia tendered of stretch —

collaborated, cloned, and splat where Cybele squats in… —

aligned under hyperspace within the context of whim — Turbulence is chic when italics cap matrices worked, worded, spoken to Wordsworth with the keys molded, holed, and guttural under fingertips. Acrylic, apple candy, and filed to fastidiousness owned, blurted, renowned… As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye we roam as characters on a page of grasses, willows, sky…

the call of your kiss is vivid in the winds — Carnivorous, like quiet, the absence of your voice forebodes with the oracle of mourning alight in a torrent of rains that stream with strikes of lightning deep into the sands we imprinted beneath the thunder of free fall to an altar of knees and eternity washed to heaven with the tide…

lilting in cadence — Flustered in my wanderlust, I tiptoe the meadow of your intent, sidestepping buttercups to sacrifice clover and pluck a cattail for bookmarking sunsets aglow in your eyes, marigold with honeybees or burnt blue like crystal besmirched on a spangle of acacia. I will the sallow to misfits when mounting your preferences on an edifice of dianthus, catching like crochet unembroidered to a floss upon the thorns of spurges.

busking the hues of lily and resplendence —