Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Moon Wings

Everything in the orphanage

belongs; stars are fed and fed

to emptiness, the

dark space

not empty, buoys

a girling in between;

an in between that

is not ―Alive!


The moment light fed here

‘is not’ began to be-long;

it longed and moved

movements twy-formed

in being-so; nothing
came first

these movements

swished & swirled

in twirling swishes hissing

where no one wanted to be
starry movements in ‘once upon a’

timed be-long still not anything

& life’s conception thrice prolonged

noticed there was a girl-tale in it and

the holiness of it.


The fire, what fed there, had its

own weathered reasoning.

Nay! Two, at least!

Subjectivities already without subjects

knew no riddance; rhymed and reasoned

why a world weight upon it.
T’here came Death; it entered on cue.

Love, his brother came licking his chops, too

and you and I entered like they

star-flung tales tailing creaturely sire.

Nowhere swished feathered rivulets t’here

almost successfully


Once upon a milk bond is make-believe

Light, growling is too, in substances tis true

which knew no riddance. So, too

did a reflection likened unto a girl

enlivening a crèche of stars with a tiny God.

And, the story says, he placed her

in the belly region

along with the enlivener, not filling

a creaturely sire who’s tail feeds ‘there’ t’here.