The Glass Spire

UmbraSight

UmbraSight

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Staff member
- Turning
View this — she
drew me from
the window where the sea
crashed senseless to
cliffs weary and
colors vibrant turned
froth n’ foam
—
oh she
squeezed my wrist
thin fingers
in a nervous
grasp — we
oh we oh we
hold me close
hand to hand
cheek to chin
sway ‘neath
dusty crystal which
twinkles with the light
of night

we here, ‘till the world
turns away and
light bleeds the sky pink
view this — she says —
view this
 
- Dreaming

much we —
though words unsaid
— must hold close
oh, is it so much
to draw a stray
word
or ask a fleeting
thought —
no , no
not in asking
only finding
so I won’t ask
and you
never tell
 
- Knot
i’ll not ask
this string on my finger
though it seems
no where leads
clip the ends
tie tidings to new beginnings
though
though
though
fray here the endings
strings to thread
thread to fiber
to the knot here
and make it loose
bound to my finger
empty to heart
 
- In Silver
quiver string taught
as arrow drawn
she
made clear by only moonlight
aware only to where the
arrow flies
 
-Hazy
There is a distance in
which the earth turns
patchwork and millions of
lives become
distant toys —
so close that I could —
brush this city — away —
with the back — of my hand
How frail it is
the leaves are changing
and home is colder
than the land I left
 
- Dinner at Harry's
Once, he said though
crackle-popped teeth
that we all (despite) blue-blood
eyes and gray between our
ears, want (that is)
desire to have flesh between
our teeth.

Though -- I think it should
not be forgotten that --
as he let these words drip
from his lips, a bowl of
vine-y greens was spear jabbed
into his grinding maw.
 
- A Story Told is One Undone

She spoke through crooked teeth -
- of varnished dreams -
and silver’d things -
there she sits upon her tarnished
throne -- a place to rest and
be as one. Yet, she hopes
by light’d work of godly glad tidings
and rusted plasterwork -- that
she shall be remembered -
- as one who served the glass’ed
throne - whose desperation was
a thing of tribulation, and with
her arms of knotted bone
she stole the crown of soldier’d stone.

And the King shall weep for his age undone shall be remembered only as the time before the golden one.
 
- The Scratch on the Edge of Conscious Thought

She spoke to me --
with words like iron;
coated in a golden residue --
and as I hold my hand to receive her
I know she scorns the way I move -
the words on my tongue -
the curve of my lips.

She spoke to me --
of thistle and thorn --
though her words gilded,
I knew I was torn.
 
- i (chorus of a fine edge)

a metallic whisper in stagnant air --
must and dust and the muffled
creak of uneven footfalls -- dragging
dragging across carpets of
thread and holes

and in her lungs sour’d
air and in hand a piece of
rott’d wood and in eyes
flurry of fears dilation --
devouring mind’s full reason

a wooden rasp-- of malintention --
steals from her all attention
as senses strain to determine --
intent

in her grip -- wood
rott’d by age and --
ravenous appetites of wriggling
thing raised up -- slicing through
the moment’s stillness

rust’d hinges croaked -- through
the shatter’d frame the form spilt --
in her throat, she felt the swell --
in the air the shrillest yell
down the rott’d stick swung
what Silence lasted in those
dust’d halls -- ended there
 
- //i\\

shall we pretend
then
That i Was True
? that it was not
my mind only which
Made me Loose?

i Loved Her Then;
of course! (of course!)
why then am
i To Blame When
she stood upon
that lonesome stretch
waiting for lights
to come.

What Was i To
have done?
shall we pretend
then
That i Was True
? that it was my
heart that beat me
Cruel?

i Am Not Pretty
i Am Not Sold
i Am Not Uncertain
i Am Unwoven
has this made me cold?

words never were
her favored gifts so
i Kept Them All
hidden in the air
until we could all
pretend that
i Was
fair.
 
- \\tell//

be it so wrong that
I upon this lonesome
stretch
Watch -- the bend
waiting for lights to come?

He;
uneven smiles and uncertain --
Step
said to me this:
I, that is, me will
one day be made
Free
and does that make it so wrong? (no. No!)

Still he speaks
and seasons change and I
-- is that light ?
Watch the bend
feel each pothole in my
Teeth
and the drumming-beat in my --
Breast.

is it mine to --
Is it his to --
another winter with no snow
-- or -- summer without
the sun

But is that light 'round
the bend --
Or have my eyes
fall'n for a trickster's
Shine
?
 
- without

realizing i had driven
this spade into -
the richness of clay,
the sweetness of
decay -
the grass.

Is it possible to --
recover once the sails are
inflated and i have
thrown the charts
and compass
into ocean froth?

Or am i- icarus
with
the warmth of
the sun burning
my own
progress.
 
- can I?

There is a flaw - in
my thoughts - a blind
piece - a chink I cannot -
fill. And I fear -
that knowing - of my failings
will grant me nothing - against them.
 
- Again

She sits right there - with her
auburn hair - and
her golden stare - out upon the
view. And in her hand -- she
holds - the knife - just below -
her -
chin.

She pressed the blade -
and with a grin - she
allowed the -
exacting edge -
to slip right
in.
 
- Return
Restoration is complication
better to move without hesitation
through the mire, and bloated
tress, the murk which seeps
into everything.
 
-Repetition;
I can wish, that is —
To scream — of the vaulted
ceilings dabbed with —
vivid dreams.

Who am I to help —
But feel — were she here
(that is) green-eye’d with
curv’d lip — I would know
what it is I —
 
- When among mirrored hallways

Must he — Lynn —

(a man who never
questioned
or gave his mind)

Remember then —

(With glass of
chipp’d ice and
amber liquid)

her — name

(Madeline or Merrabell)

upon that — yellow’d sheet
with those — numbers —
he never tried

(nostalgia is another name
for that smokey voice
and haunting verse)

perhaps another — sip
and his — memories will —
 
- Squeeze
Skin beneath fingers — coolness
of flesh. Whispers in the dark —
a laugh in the stillness —
hair between finger — rolls like silk

and I —
 
- Lulliby for a Sigh

Wasting away —
in the light at
the end — of the — road should
I press on — or —
 
- yellow;Notepad

The clip of — teeth
reverberate in my sinuses
and escape to my inner ear
where you; (quite receptively) capture —
my distress.

Laughter can — chew the
air and I calm the disturbed
nerve with a — sip of
chilled water.
 
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