Scattered directions
on the leaf of destiny—
I turn the corner,
quizzically.
Dim dynamos, insufficient
to light my wayward steps
warm me
while I peel the curtains back
and write soliloquy.
To beauty in another-same
familiar loved face.
Particular, peculiar, yea—
repugnant even—grace.
To chemistry, crisp aspiration
towards amalgamed-die.
Dodecahedral-morphing thrown,
a gamble-loving eye.
Rhythms ebb, sharp birdsong;
walk without moving,
sing without tongues.
Directions erupt
in impossible vectors
where the quill pertains not.
Climbing the cosmical ladder
where rung-languages
constrain not.
To find the bellows,
breeze through the branches,
erratic majesty:
and I turn the page
with a curious glance