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Staccato

Staccato,

Thunderheads are breaking
Over me

Sound,
Shuddering in a silent
Web

There’s certainty, I’ve found
In numbers

A dial ticks
It’s stiff mustachios
Over the headboard,
Upside down,
Or I am

Five days
On the fifth floor

Thirst in the unreachable
Gullies
Of dry bone,

No one comes

Static arcs between fingers
Crawling beneath
Canopus,
Winged,
And white
And shattering,
For reaching
In all kaleidoscopic
Dark

A listening silence,
Mast shattered and dragging,
In the wake,
Neptune pursed
Upon the ragged eyelet
In a torn umbrella

A staring silence

She’s gone

Two days and nights a hollow
Spear, breathes into
Tattered sail,
Listing,
Bespeckled in a blood,
Archipelago

Specters of steam
Curl upwards
From asphalt,
Shining hotly
In dusk light,
Pain huddling beneath
Sparse foliage,
Pressed through fissures

Rise,
Relentless towers,
In ruinous membranes
Of saturation

And to know this is all eternally
Temporary,
Gray white bones rising amidst the
Courser
Blacks, starved of
Summers
Coals

Fingers pressed against windows,
Lips I fucked,
Pursed,
In humid tempest

And to look there again,
And see nothing
And see terrible possibilities,
Arrayed in a questioning arc,
Vertebrae sprawling from her
Arched spine,
Laughing at the emptiness
We’ve suddenly left behind

All names have been shorn
From headstones,
Swallowed,
In this greenwash reclamation,

Stoic,
Physics,
Time

And in this ruin of
Rust, heaped at the Sphinx
Paws,
Bear witness,
Great yawning chasm,
Where floods beat their velvet
Angel wings,
In deciduous susurrations,

As I consider steel and glass,
Passing through pierced flesh,
Parchment, ragged at the bony pate,
To refuse the morphine,
Is knowing
Moments pass,
But a bound receptor
Never forgets

And those who come
Do not speak,
Through their white veils,
And no one comes

And yet the essence remains,
Where my pores hold
Rainwaters,
Strode through,
In routine circuits of
Newtonian motion,
Ever present, in particulate
Waves, yet glimpsed galaxies,
Permeable threads,
Blinking in a symbiotic
Regard,
Across the subatomic
Stratum, ripples the visible
Spectrum, a raised
Oculus regards,
In unfettered awe,

Hands joined in reciprocal
Orbits,
Across silent leagues
Of star ocean,
My Tycho Brahe

Autumn washes toward me,
Lowering a steely rim visor,
Salt shear gathering,
At the corners

A languorous sunset paws
At bruise hewn horizons
In machine soft revolutions
And strange colliding metronomes

Circles drowned in deep
Auburn,

Lines intersect and part
At obtuse angles
As I seek the shallows
Of finite numbers,
And she’s gone

And I rise from the sea,
With the dawn

And she’s gone

..

Staccato
By
Daniel Christensen
DanielChristensen
Written by DanielChristensen (The Fire Elemental)
Published
Author's Note
Copyright © 2022 by Daniel Christensen. All rights reserved.

For a bit of context to make the write more accessible, above I have woven events together, one recent, one less recent and one...
Copyright © 2022 by Daniel Christensen. All rights reserved.

For a bit of context to make the write more accessible, above I have woven events together, one recent, one less recent and one even moreso, times I was thinking about recently and their rammifications upon now, what I thought about when I was in the hospital for my car accident injuries, the spear of glass and steel, long needles and the tube that reinflated my lung, the sail, as for metaphors present here, musings on the nature of being from across my span of time and experiences. I hope that is useful, but what is most important, I know, is how you connect to the writing and audio, in your unique way. Tell me, I want to feel you there.

Love and light,
D
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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