well hello

you see I did write back to you

in

a different format

more like a letter now

|the porch door|
is not a set of words
it’s a thing
   a sound
of slamming shut
the rolled aluminum rattle
the smell of wind , maple buds , and
days that have beginnings and ends

i can see the grass
back when green was still a
color
i can hear the creaking piston-hinge
and
the
reckless
slam

of all the futures being
shaved  down
to the
core

||

the greatest sickness remains
fear.
so much in the way of ill deeds cemented new realities while the whole world hid away in long hibernation

do not go quietly this time
do not go quietly.

is this place’s version of Simon says .
Question is : where’s Simon?

Do you remember the importance of flower arrangements
During the greatest times of War?

cyber-book-burning on both sides.
when did erasure start passing as
love

over snow fields
chimney smoke versus clouds
                         racing shadows

middle management
for a cruel and misguided cosmology

with a fetish for the poorly-struck pose of kindness
while seeking to eliminate undesirables between
breaths

these are the stewards
where are the kings