Mitosis

Cellular biology: cytology, from the Greek kytos,
contain, is the study of cell properties, functions, life, death,
and division. Plankton to piranha and hookworms to
humans. Among organelles, mitochondria make
power, while lysomes break down. Nuclei
show us the way. Membranes bound and protect.
Mitosis: division in phases
whereby a mother births two like
daughters. Tension builds until
it tears in two, jagged
or cleaved, callous or
just. This is not
our way. Opposite
when two are one in that
light and, sometimes designed
and sometimes not, force out a one to wander
forth. The spark burns fonder
dims or darkens while you find your way
by touch
lighting on the traps and trips that exist. The tension
resolved, the product persists
or dissolves.

I see that pain,
all that I contain grows
straight, flows faint
from the brain to the fire
unlove
undone desire
one.

Cat Wake Up

Meow, meow, the small cat lit,
Her gaze ablaze like titian tides
When sanguine sun beyond them sets;
The light reflected in her eyes
Issues forth with heavy thought
And not with dull or graymade hue
But like some dream she long had sought
Her look, absorbed, now transmits through.
What children dance inside that light,
That countenance so tender made?
What object of such keen-dream sight
Might pierce her muddled fog, displayed?

A bit of seafood from the deep
Recesses of uneasy sleep.

What the Princess Whispered

her green eyes gazing after me

she, swallowed in that other maw by then

I back away, the jaws of life in hand

her black hair chasing after me

the blue twilight strewn with twisted metal

parkway shoulder blades of grass

topped with dewdrops clover spades and petals

dusted bright with broken glass

her smiling plea haunts it still

Superuomo

skylights night slide
by through smog below and fog shrouded glow clouds

of bright yellow, streaming like stop time taxicabs between

bricklike buildingtops, offering a moon’s

wan reflection before their keepers’ sleeping

visages. false idols, for all of them,

I’m sure. solipsism destroys

altruism in its self worship, and warships,

and religion for that matter. this city was almost never

a war zone. still the spindles

would gleam frighteningly. it’s funny,

selflessness. somnambulistic in the higher. skylights

go by and go out;

lights turn to dust and stars.

Aqualung


In every face, many:
dark abets reflection and,

fight as they may, the glass
insists. Passing

through a station
forsaken, petals wilt. Eyes avert, golden

dewed for the jaundice, seeing
nonsight. Urine for the nostrils. Feral

taste. Choler
for the wastrels.