A hejira of horses bandying bridles about
by chomping bits between teeth.
A knife can neither cut itself nor water.
This I scribbled to paper seconds before
the lightning strikes the six foot iron rod driven into some monstrous, man-made composite rock slab.
The rod, the rock, and I all a’sat upon the hilltop
to weather the transpiring storm.
A’sat before the nine stone pillars of the valley below.
The energetic transfer blasts plasma like fourth of july sparklers drip floating light like rain.
A corona of solar flares eclipsing my sky like the sun reflected off a stranger’s bald head.
Succour without denigration of emotions rendered me in transparency.
Seeing the bleeding horizons sinuously bloodied because when you do not know that what you are enumerating,
you are rendered speechless.
I am born: begotten
I arise: proceed
I grow: spring forth