//storm//
Our thousand sides, wind-twilling, twist will un-tambourine
the sun-press, sky-willing, with whissssh
to shushle your air-roaring, cloud crickle, pick up the fierce
passing, rasp-dancing our free slim hustle
wind-rub on web tendrils and the world rolls, word-hushhhh, we roar
the fixed measure of storm shoulder, un-set the sung-form of low waters
and the wet soles of our many tongues and curl of under-youngs
will whet their whistles, as air thick ushle gives over, whole willing
//still//
De-rip, and pling, we flow-over, and upside send, down
one shot after another, the fine art, of plim and maid in water-ring
gloss-shine, the sleek rind of the welcome-ing, our wax
too full to sip, sheds water-skin to let fall up and ripple
the circle-arts of earth pools, one after another, sing, sing to over
flowing, flaw-less run, the excess free for silver-ing
//rot//
Under, erred our earth-eyes blind and finger-deep death truly
mother limb lies down to un-beget, her edges umber to the eek, as were
our own un-learning to touch, her dark
undoes all the mouths own ends be-neath, oh wet
the grown down tender, rills to break our own knot, knot
un-making in soft tremble, in in-stilling rumble, rough rush o’er
the rich be-drawing, come come sluice
of glisten-dark, spore-hustle, and mush-hungry
coo the death death woodly, rebegin