Geometric sin.

If there was a eagle it sat abreast 

of a town waiting for a library 

to read around 

Overseeing its early formation 

For ye of little information 

What’s visible today will be 

Tarnished tomorrow.


He was never caught perching 

Or giving a backwards glance 

To the spectacles

on the high wire of historical 

Balancing act.


to be found  in the crowd 

of a circus house that couldn’t 

Sail or soar high enough 

to send or receive 

Wireless telemetry 

a chain mail that you originally 

Couldn’t read


Even now when turning a bow 

into a prize winning Geometric sins 

of comic proportions i often pour 

Belles I often walk through holes in 

The wall of abandoned citadel 

of logics and Childhood genome. 

Picking goulash over galoshes 

With stitches that sprung a leak

When braiding lashes of cadaver 

that can make harmless Noises 

frolicking in caboose’s the 

Months of candied string

To sleepwalk through a life

Watching you dream.