bioxoid

bioxoid:mcull

Let’s continue this conversation over here…

bioxoid, vol 2

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Prime

Broken like a habit
Fragile pump
Lost its prime
Or never had it.

Summer things

Skeletonized leaves litter the grass around my house this hot Kentucky summer. Many still cling to branches.  One floated on the surface of the water, and I watched it.  The structure without substance, pressed between the sky and the pond.  My reflection through its fenestrations is a stained glass abstraction: flechatellerite flashed with scarlet recognition.  These are difficult days. 

The fan above my bed has a property I can’t comprehend.  Late at night, lit only by the sideways moonlight from my bedroom window, my ceiling fan casts a shadow on the ceiling, right next to it. The shadow of the fan spins slightly faster than the fan itself.  I’ve laid awake for hours measuring the distinction, seeing it without being able to hold it in my mind. 

night depth

“the depths of night” is a cliche,
but a deep one, well-deep and
dark the alkaline echoes plink
from below, somewhere, deep
in the night.

paradox of motion

the eastern edge of tomorrow
rolls toward my bedroom
under a quiet zenith
at a thousand MPH but
so remote, still, stationary.

night noises

how many of the ghosts
in the hallway
when we’re children
are our parents creaking by,
and when we’re old?

6:05p sky

during my drive home from
work
the sky, dangling its clouds
and birds, is a blue brightness,
a shallow color, a tint
expressing the delicate resiliency
of everyedgewhere the void pulls at,
against gravity history and sense.