the counter-cultural
evolution
consists of variations upon,
not themes measured
by resonant simplicities, but fugues
that fall like stones thrown
thru river water
and last year's regalia, and cold--
it is an early thaw, sometimes false--
spring is mind, perpetual--
do you fall thru? i do--
and confess that we are slow
to raise the sea and slower yet to scream
of stars birthed
upon the cataclysm of tongues
that as yet gather sense
of themselves