autumn, mild or hot

misty autumn sunlight
burgeoning into days
of heat, and some excitement;
a layered late parade of days

flourishing agin the fall;
the overlay, the backdrop,
surrounding and infusing
humanity’s delayed outbreak:

breaking through to open eyes
of Calvinism’s rebel, who’d
dared to think free will
could outrun predestination;

but found, at length,
human exaltation in
a half-wild urban garden
and souls lost to salvation.


Just my imagination

“But it was just my imagination, once again,
Running away with me”

cast into the dreamweb,
launching my imagination,
as if I hadn’t lost you
and we had worked out well;

welling from beneath:
deep dark arterial blood
bubbling through the gaps
from reality to dream;

dream happy for a time, intense
and perfect, vulnerable only
to its own demented logic,
fluid interface and tension;

– fatigue drags around the edges,
slows escape and hinders
breath control, but doesn’t break
the spell, the construct –

tension that strips bare,
wound tightly, gripped at heart,
afraid something will happen,
nameless, wrong, if I lose control;

controlled always by fear and
panic that rises, only rises,
– if it falls, never subsides –
conditioned still to know;

and knowing, being aware
of smoke trails that stain the sky,
so beautiful from afar,
and deadly when inhaled.