Riding the Red Eye

Riding the Red Eye

I have no space in broken trees grown awry.
Chaotic aura, determines, resplendent; bird, blossom, branch.
Limited requirements kiss hours goodbye.
Later, streams wear rocks down.
Whole starfish crush them to dust particles, river bed sludge.
Quiescent storms single out more shoulders, knees, ice cream.
Sofas resemble old wilderness rides of plumed white condor flights.
Still the blind girl, or was it a boy, remains enigmatic.
The grass, the wind, the joining: mother of…
Born right here both are GONE.

John Bailes, Kotatsu Roko
Middle of the Night, 1 March 2011