There are stars inside you, feel
yourself low
to the ground, feel
yourself low —crickets of old calling
Olly,
Olly oxen, on the farce side
of freedom (we live)
In pictures: this movie madhouse—
she with thesnakesmile that breaks to
sweet songs; her portals to otherworlds,
Hey,
your reality
is a warm blanket
You,
you are not
your violence
There are choices and there are wheels,
And on the stage:
a pound of gauze, a mound
of flesh
little voice singing in featherbreath: Beauty’s privilege—
Redefine
Redefine
Re Define —write it in the contours of time, then
Bury your hands, Death-the-inevitable
end(ing) sound —sliding door; or
Ally chair to nowhere, spray paint prophesying “You
are not here”
Who sits, who stares into places they are not?
Sometimes it seems the seams of the perceivable Universe split
open and I see it all— divide and collide like
Kaleidoscope Isotopes, my
Animal Infinitesimal Duet washed
like sea glass on the spool.
By Stevie Beisswanger