Black Ribbon Edge

how the hole inside grows                   and the road

                                                the road unspools fills

feeds inertia to inertia

as a river feeds water

into lake

            how a sunset

in Arkansas sits four hours

in your blurred mirrors                                               dying

                                                            over Texas

                                                            I think to myself

reflect later that the evening sky

is a lady

painting herself for a night out

with

but the image is a dead end                all

                                                            images

but a few

                                               

kaleidoscopic

                                                            dead ends

in the stellar vacuum

of intentional speech

                        the song I am become

sings to turn on you now glittering assumptions of flesh

as soil

            and all that the sky makes of our eyes.