fall where they may

at mid-day's solemn stillness, i settle upon a far reaching oak,
with which to rest against my head, under a heavy setting sun.
between trembling leaves, downward rays happen upon my face
in ever-changing fragments, tingling the pores with warmth
and dancing indian summer glow; an orange and blinding opiate white.

i, widening my unfocused eyes, allow words to bend and blur and burn.
an unassuming and stirring rarefaction, shy of any such intention,
slumped over the dog-eared pages of a dusty borrowed book, open before me.
i, gazing upon shards of brilliant light so curiously bestowed at once; auras emitted.
with the picking up of a rustling breeze, loosening my grip, i allow the pages to be freed.

at mid-day's fading stillness, nicely settled abut a far reaching oak,
i watch as wiry pages implode, passing over each other in rapid succession,
it'll be the cheeky breeze that decides which fluttering one to settle upon
and as the churning turns to solemn stillness again, i inhale the page before me and read:
for ever panting, and for ever young; all breathing human passion far above,
that leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloyed, a burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

at mid-day's solemn stillness, the breeze, it finally settled on a storied ode by keats.

do not swallow

all i can smell
is 16 fluid ounces of hydrogen peroxide
making fun of all the blood