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strange corpuscules of light�
To think any object in the midst of others�tornadoes�this is the quality�
each pronounced in objection�to the others�a genuine clatter�no order stains the private sense of each blind or dumb or blank or smooth or hollow, transparent, sucking vitality or withering its (pride)____
pantomiming the very dream of mulling stardust
a name or two and still the time
of day is idling . . .
To she, the one I love
How artful that which crafted your absence! Amalgam of names, your look after my errant hopes, . . . �and voice�countries confess their infermity before the visitor drawn upon your servants� paper gardens�
You�d be willing but really the world�s wile is defined before your chastity)__ were your virtues only a measure for the wrongdoing of others)) but in the measurelessness of yourself there is not foothold for a perpetrator�ghost you are to them your very action is a visitant . . . Were God a hindu manual you are the tantric goddess of souls, and at the heart of grace is the present state of your index, the world curves when you becknon, the only abysmal incident) in the divination of space-time
You are Athena�s aegis & intrepid of Cornucopia & several further
denominations of (mind pure mind & matter) glory. Every eclipse & each equinox are the meandering of your soul which flies foolhardy hither scither entreating all to bless your continual birth that few may fortell in its effulgence, much less forfend_
Someone more than ordinary�
desperation, this over pasta in a cafe
Her hair a glossy black, hands slender, quick, her eyes are emerald or black inbetween as words are proferred, meet and intricately weave
In her hair a clasp of bronze or gold, her shirt is sleaveless, she whispers
with a gesture telling grace, her eyes catch me sideways and her smile warms me in and through, I touch her hand, she draws back then shoves over so her hip alligns with mine and she is closer, breathing there beside me, I beside myself with her beside herself, our voices off in a realm their own. She knows the university. She sits in a local bookshop. I am trembling and she seems on the verge of blushing out her soul. (this, all this selfless, an ego-protection engaged)
�we�re beside eachother�
There are depths beneath my heart, a hollow , hallowed, hallowing to the light above, bellowing to the trace of promises
I know the words and won�t remember them
if love is deception, the art of mistaking eachother
and loved her instantly
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The preceding is pending copyright (c) 2006 Nathan Coppedge