#2030 - someone sings to the nothing air

 

2030

6.203

21.vii.25

someone sings to the nothing air

my secret place the sky

 

as upward of every number blue

and thought

 

empty, like my cloudless head

 

one hundred thousand years of words

 

grey sky

a conflagration

some say star

 

then here’s the lapping dish spun still

halved and quartered, gone

 

sky for a brain

revealed with ridges

and squander flesh

quiver out

 

no sky – this ceiling

but fill up the book

 

any page is

 

it’s the old familiar edge

 

weather in me, outside too

 

a chimney dark, black night

 

sky of my own skin, untaut

 

it’s just the size that cuts me down

 

occasions rising

 

old orifice of what, my dear?

 

the uncanny knack

as dim of expectation

 

you see how it’s all up with me