prison of light

in midmorning air , threes burst from stick
figures. spring arriving a few weeks early
should be scarey, but mostly it's like transforming
dark matter to bold strokes of goodbyes,
a star dancing with a black hole.

look into the vortex spinning a bit off axis now
the solid ether no one sees, the fish we are, swimming.
imagine being one of those aliens getting
caught in your pincers. no wonder they stick a needle
in my eye. listen. i wanted to love you this time.
i kept telling you about the way the canal was full
and ducks floated on top. but all you could see was drowned
kids and pity. so you revert to what
i 'll never know. something i
believe i said first? if
we could write boldly as jack about
gheyfer translastions of typose into prose,
or lolita fantasies, maybe the red laptop
dance i never sent back to the factory, then
you and i might have made
john and yoko look like amateurs.
i didn't know you thin
but what we had was from opposite sides of the sky.
and you're just fine with that. reboot. i won't
be the one giving
you new ram space to play with. sometimes i
am way more than ok with that.
like a day without needles
warmly floating in a sky, thru the clouds,
pinning the sea with their beauty.