We seldom question and who

considers the gaps in between

those tucked away places our field of vision

crudely splatters and forces into display

this is another way to say “landscape”

sable palms frame a green composition

really a myriad-pocketed schema

which within its pockets the wind dies

murdered by us for whom nothing but

the margins seem to sway to create

an event in time which only happened

to this viewer myself, say,

at the car park of my girl’s school.

Both composer and spectator

make-up any given moment alive

Both victim and perpetrator…

…both seer and non-seen

Now back to my green-framed landscape

where the mundane miracle occurs

witnessed but dreamt

apportioned & man-made

a perceived summary to an heir of a savanna simian

deluded into seeing clear to the horizon

wherein he thinks his safety lies he thinks,

… a deliverance

but really where he’s collected a whiff

of his own demise, a simple death

achromatic & chicken-kicking

hung upside-down on a wire bled white

pockmarked & plucked–rubbed out