smoke signals


        there are signals in the noise.         find them.
 
 
 
think of everything you think.   that’s the noise.
        the tilt of a hat.

        is it the smoke that
makes you squint?   how does perspective rearrange itself?
        only elements get broken.   ever

        like right here.   then remembered, never broken.
 
 
two is just another way of saying, one.
 
 
beginnings are much the same as endings are.   we just forget.
we just look the other way around.

splashes dissipate in the blink of intention.   she loves me.   she loves me not.

        gathered at your good feet.

        it’s brief, this scene we share.

 
 
        thus was finger-painting born.   rejoice.

sometimes a poem begins in the middle and spills out from there.

        or is just another mess on the floor.

almost the middle.   the moment just before, innocent.   now, a rag.
sometimes empty.   sometimes, we left the front door open.
        says blood, I remember when.
 
 
in the end it goes like this.   someone sees a painting like it were
a photograph.   twice viewed, mandatory.   then the painting said,
 
 
        a dragon dreams of falling.
 
 
        just as a child does.   ergo, children and dragons are the same.
 
 
 
 
 

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