The Cereologist

In the blinding eye
Of each asterikyklone
Stares the pupil:
A bindu not as small as “just”
For it has a complex gist
Instead a new navel
(New a long while, too)

With appropriate umbilicals
Winding behind one
You see the aperture
Of every eye appears
To hold a black hole
Yet beyond these lenses
Brilliant velds forever



two kids live on their bikes
one is standing, pedaling
the leaves tumble clumsy
across the black pavement
it is not halloween
or anything

each different night
has a name, a shade
of black for its nature
for people have names
of sound, but for nights
it’s different

snugged up in an oo
my skin gets cold creeps
when i’m thrilled, then
you read the braille
on my armbacks
with your fingerprints

just as good as an aurora
is an ouroboros inside
an amethyst terrarium
(inside an alaskan zoo
(inside the middle
of january))


i cannot remember living
a day that poured too slow
through the brown window

when god made me
did it require effort or
are ten billion-million souls
the product of no effort

i can remember white powdered
nightskies when your eyes eclipsed
over like two lunar events

when a god has made me for living
her life wraps up in a couple of lines

i can’t remember small cells
like a god of daylight cares
or thinks tirelessly of what
can soon become manifest

maybe god just waves
his big, old hand and does it