gargoyles ascend a cathedral

My legs push back against the precipice. My arms wearily hold the instrument as my eye peeps through the lens and my finger trembles to press the button on feelings exceeding a single frame. I could not survive out here. I am but a wanderer passing along this winding, perilous path. Blinking and glimpsing at something too powerful and raw to live beside with any of the comforts required to establish a productive way of life. Yet this is their home, their pattern, their habit, and their comfort. These dream-like forms, others simply call cormorants, gird the steepest drop back into the crashing swirl of sleep. Above the unfathomable chasm and below the infinite dome, a brood scratches its way along these stone faces of bulky severity. What wild ideas am I witnessing that can claw into such an impregnable form? Am I to believe that these are just cormorants stringing along the rocks whose random patterns of erosion drain into this dark sea? Just another iteration of genetic code replicating itself in this random display of meaninglessness? While they are scaling the deepest interior of my dreams and emerging as the shadowy forms from the deepest slumber? Even when this sublime scene awakens with a fervor of gargoyles ascending a cathedral in my mind’s eye?

The wilderness has a mysterious tongue
Which teaches awful doubt, or faith so mild,
So solemn, so serene, that man may be
But for such faith with nature reconciled;
Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to repeal
Large codes of fraud and woe; not understood
By all, but which the wise and great, and good
Interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.

From Mont Blanc by Percy Bysshe Shelley

mainframe iterations

simulated heads
flap
rubber jaws

autopilot eyes
spiral
on screens

tin foil
reactions
jitter

a plastic tiger
skulks
through the clutter

one click
purges
the inert mass of suffering

Listen to my reading of this poem on Twitter:

mind jelly

scattered on the old river
flakes of light
flutter in the breeze
like passing thoughts 

a seed
finds purchase 
in such barren ground

some crust 
as thin as an eggshell
divides waters

details
flutter in the belly
of the mind, why?

untitled night

a frayed shirt
hangs still
in the window

thought I had forgotten 
that moment from yesterday

a silhouette of oak
climbs up the glass
frame of a moonlit eye

a color so shallow
jumps out of the pane
yet so deep it leaps 
back behind the space
it fills with its
strange delight

and a feeling of something unknown
imposes its brief order 
like a small bite
then slips its dark tail
back into the night

makeshift refuge

"allow me, 
to show you the interior,"
hisses the hungry maw
on a muscular rope

but the cricket leaps
into a garage and probes
boxes of forgotten shoes
and obsolete gadgets

a choir sweeps the cricket
to others nestled in the folds
of an old favorite shirt
crumpled behind paint cans

lulling each other
with songs of refuge,
they dream of ropes without orifices
and cricket houses, Mid-century modern

while parasitoids possessed
by choral arrangements
nest into cricket bodies and dream
of flight paths and aerial maneuvers