Feeding

This is the nut:
Moon ballooning over the crest
west of the canal,
a free electron for the electorate.
Morning goes down to power lines
and out to sea.

This, the meat:
salogok under foot, locking knees;
wind baffling my parka –
stone in hand, turning to hop…

The shell, then,
is where fire steams and earth flies,
a monstrous thing in the stomach
but the empty crown creates
this heart-splash, that foot-fall.

What makes me hungry?
Lying down, I see your face
in the tattoo of your name.
I sleep in the switch-back
of your voice.

Genoscape

A healing brain gestes trine endocrine,
brazes these holovolts, duff and grain.

To leave a town’s a hard kick,
biking into overfield wind.
The moon’s road-hidden roots
lien on ease to sprint
some wholly simple ripple.

Hic et nunc, no prophecy but memory:
A lure’s flight path;
a tongue-dug tooth of cormorant song
on the scale of heaven’s lute.

In the symptoms at onset
of this season’s fever,
muscles ravel slow around
ears bound to a burst
and absent wavecast…

In one heard heartbeat
are twined helices maying.