The brutal rainbow reminded me

I cannot hold beautiful things

for posterity because good things

are fleeting, keeping us chasing them

until we stumble off the earth.

That’s living at best, suffering at worst,

and all the fancy pilings of touch in between.

Holding tightly to a vague memory

of a make-believe mountain

drenched in quiet color.

Angels plant images like these

to sinners who repent in sleep

so they don’t drown in groggy sobs.

.

Bone and stone, star and sight

all carry the same oath, a blessing

when released on northern lights

and let go over dark seas.

A day unfolds with no grace,

lots of malice,

and frolicking crows;

you say “nonsense” like it’s a bad word.

.

I crave the gobbeldy-gook

like a fish needs to move forward.

.

Pump the feet

and go round and round-

when it stops,

the rest is soporific.