“Roy and Silo”
It turns out life is as
empty of answers
as the surface of a smooth
white stone.
still, I tend to periodically stitch borrowed
and stolen bits of
art and science and rhetoric
into an alter of sorts –
where I look for myself foolishly for awhile –
but anyway, I know animals need no idols,
and so I endeavor to
turn away from all of my explaining
toward shadow light and the senses –
birds tossed across the sky like something spilled.
Allow the draw of heat to
lead me to nothing where nothing
means nature:
I sleep fitfully or not at all
when you are away, love.
