Ling
Such a fan on your back, how that feels, sublime
Is it cold when you flap your wings, how cold it gets
Just not into the sun, just don’t melt, freezing folding
lifting, sinking, trying it, it’s still a blue morning
an ice-blue morning, no such seen for so long
To walk in it, and slowly flutter, up and down
You see, you see, it’s working, ice is already forming
There goes another over there, how sublimely he glitters, like a ling
She also glitters like a ling, she almost cools a field
This is a heat-based cleaning process for the blue balloon
for the condensed floating dust, for this drying grape
That’s how to chase the heat, chase it away, it’s always a chase
To the foot of the little apple tree, get close to cool the tree
the little tree is too hot, its leaves rustle rashly
It’s already getting cooler, soon it’ll freeze, now it breaks
xxx
Now-Fans
What happens now arises from the unutterability of wide prevision
The vision of survival under the sign of a newly created existence
As a confluent multiple of now. The now as a fan leaf?
The written silently moves into this fresh unfolding as a sole support
Forms an echo in and beyond language, as if vibrating, fanning
No rain, no swelling stream, no calving iceberg erases the sentences
Hope springs from the time of shared promises in every laid bow
Folds that pleat another security, also, with a pinch, folding in your remaining
Now-fans, open sea tides, spurting springs, an undertow upon your arrival!
I picture hope as an invisible bubble, it reflects the unknown region
But from which side? Seen from above, the bubbles burst quickly
New ones are constantly formed, filled with maps of another country, full of performance
I picture hope as a huge fan, carried on shoulders
Fans with which women bring winter, winds, deer, and snowdrifts
Spreading blades, ice power plants run by bodies, frosty wings
xxx
Sky Fossil
The burning sky twitches behind the curtain of the room
A Mediterranean plastic sediment, red, blue, and yellow melted
with particles of anthropogenic emission, a bright neon lava
I picture the firmament as a fluorescent sky fossil
Last clouds in stone, radioactive flakes like drops of oil, they glow
The vastness on Earth: Oxygen basins, pods full of mountain air
Every I is small. Smaller than the dust of heat, smaller than the eternal ice
The glowing, contorting sky is larger. A snow creature alone
Can’t touch the heat. A and O form a specific attitude
Species solidarity, a shared, incessant chirping
Iridescent wings would arise, slowing cresting, ascending
As each I grows into a lava stream, brighter than your dream of yourself
Frozen heat shields melt with new and old seeds
Yuán yuán běn běn. A and O mean a nocturnal departure
At night women run from their rooms chasing water
xxx
Fantoscope
Lanterns flicker on. The Great Barrier Reef glows
Where is the Peak Plateau? Peep, peep, peak
Oil production shrinks, corporations only secure
cash flows in downstream oil. A downward spiral
The fat red balloon has burst
The pink scoop of strawberry ice cream has fallen
out of the cone and melted on boiling hot asphalt
These days, the hunt for sunlight
begins between the plates, the folded shapes
A tandem cell of gallium-indium-phosphorus
and gallium-indium-arsenic splits drops of water
into oxygen and hydrogen
Scattered moons of earthbound storage
In oil varnishes I saw rainbows bathe. The colors of the earth
emerge from the oldest deposits. Transparent in the opaque
the outermost is reflected in the depths. Without form, endless
oil colors the street like a frill on a dress
a tender gift
The abandoned graves of the lonely possess more eternity
than any heavy marble tomb. In great sites, great urns stand
for small lives. And the rest? The human race? You and I?
We will shine when the earth boils us to oil
xxx
xxx
