action-reaction

“Push,” goes the lamp, the black lambs

Of light aligning as chain lightning, a blue mist

Digesting the gold flaking off our thousand arrows

Is this dread? Or has falling always worked this way?

These fruits by the sidewalk are singing, all the

sonic & sonar & sight guiding me north 

to a heavenly wrath

Sort the jars of moons and wishes, shards misting

These halls to spell a cathedral of lost paint. Are the 

walls stone? Or can arrows pierce beyond 

Our numbers? Hold me lightly, my brittle bionic

blessings are going nowhere but north