Zen and the Art of Fluid Dynamics




City haze twists—twirls

in my fingers like a dirty scarf


where fine dust settles between

threads of my fingerprints,

while new skin swallows it whole,


furious to remake me

until I, too, cling tooth and nail

to shiny chrome and polished granite.




my bare feet tread ferns

from coffee ground earth


            I spun fractals—

like silkworm cocoons

to hold

            my trembling mind

ghost-like, sinking shorelines,

soaked with roses




Mother Eris bore


self-same asymmetry


unraveled tree

sway to gas phase

violence,          bent, beautiful

stormy gait;

                 my leaves dance away

off my nimble fingers

like rising

                  incense    wishes

wilt in swirls of      leaves

until my river     catches stones,

to rise the city again.


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