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.

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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.