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Materialized within yesterday's clouds,
I now erase the faceless fog

to face the distractions of loneliness,
like departing slowly from a fisherman

as he throws his line into the river
again & again.

I peer into a mirror
as if I were flying through a space
outside of Time.

Here, it is like an endless sunset
on the horizon,
rose petals in streams

wedged to the nourishment
of a landscape's eye.

If the moon's pupil opened a bit wider,
the sun would gasp with rapt attention

& reverse every memory, every photo,
so that all light & life would become

an absolute anfractuous shadow
sunken into the infinite mire upon
the pressed lips of the universe. 

The stage is too gigantic to trip on the surface

so I descend over it.

I am in control of my own displacement.

There are thousands of miles of depth
within a ventriloquist's tongue.

I am stepping into Antigravitropism.

The climax of the circus comes to a pause
& the animals weep silently.

I hear bulbous whispering.

Disappearance of clowns,
       disappearance of stage-sound,
              disappearance of Pantheon-sized crowds

becomes an apron
for the isolation of my making--

the amalgamations of.