A Lively More-Than-Thing

This freezing is murder. I cannot sleep.
My toes have begun to curl into the midnight,
My sails have folded around the relaxing wave of offshore sands,
And there is little I can do to press out of my room of feeling and into
Dry, beginningless places above the shrinking zone of narcotic memory.

The wastes of seeing betray my endless letting-go,
My rivers remain anonymous to the bright,
I sip around the edge of the cup in the hopes of tasting something
Different, unimaginable, better to the lips than plastic.
Memory has not gone here.

I spy with my handheld camera
Things left unsaid in the ocean of my room.
There has been no activity here for quite some time,
And this is felt by all the walls,
Even those which have not yet been erected.
I sing for their demise, but internally,
Because they are built out of the sand with my own two hands
In the unconscious time before any waiting has occurred.

All the streets in my neighborhood have drains.
The stars are holes to the sky beyond.
What lives here is sifted and sucked away to infinite madness,
Which is every form of color and raw emotion,
And is only beautiful. This my feeling knows, outside skin and bone.

Crafty warships have been spotted along the coast.
They plot destruction of both sides.
The elements have gathered to witness this great undoing,
Seen in the soil and the sky,
Beyond time and through a thousand years into the endless ocean.
Dreams fragment along the beach, waves crashing inward to the sand.
I see the little thoughts of my long life breaking away into currents of something else
Which cannot be defined,
A lively more-than-thing
Dusted from the highest brow.

My open madness is complete. All kinds of weather have shown it, and continue to show it.
Sands behave differently now.
Forms wave in heat, with or without necks to stand on.
Dry gains heave unheralded mists to the fabric of forgetting,
In every moment before and during the following earthquakes from out of this world,
And I am done.
The dome is sealed.
There is no limit to how bright the air can seem,
So I grow with it wherever it blesses and leads.
This is my home.