why, soma?

why this? though the communions between blogs and myself have so often been torrid (no, i do mean tumultuous), the efficiency of this medium overflows my concerns and lack in determination. here, those that read these words shall find that i am fine and oh so fine in saint petersburg over the summer months. that is june and july. are there not other means? there are, but i am loathe to everything but speech, and even that is loathe to me.

every careful act of communication should be considered conversation, aided by the imagination, else the depth and ethical demand upon the reader will not be whole. this is a meeting between you and i, but in lieu of coffee and a table, we share a sallow phosphorescence.

is this the lambent soma? the body behind the glow? yes and there is more. but that may become clear anon. until then, welcome.

lambent red star

supple branches have pierced
spaces and snatched the chill

and if the violent provocations
of supple redound into further spaces,

then the boats will hope sink-
ing into their heavens of mire.

mires lend into each other similarly,
although this remains a metaphor.

this connection is the grit of things and
the things adhere, one onto the subtle

furs of a cat and then the ursine heavens.
and when her feet are caught in it.

linear equations too have imputed her with
wistfulness, that most dangerous constellation.

slushes run along grates in solemnity
as the people aghast in the red star.

splashes of red color us as mars
lilting in neptune’s orbit and wake.

is she aghast?
she has assailed all conscious bulwarks.

she believes that by morose features she will be within
the frost of liquids freely intermingle, that is all.

is that all?
what remains to be seen is a fair analysis of “solemnity.”

he is reminded of her spaces and his.
the spaces of her body tarry, then jubilate when objects

pass into sight: a pair of needles, used, a jar, new, a new
jar of oranges suspended in the warm viscous.