iron mask
It seems slow then all at once the gray wall shifts, color spilling from every surface of each once worn shadow. Brighter all at once the world loses just a little, all that solar nurture a sudden blinding to tiny blessings. Eyes dull their focus, or chase everything that is bright and lively. Eyes lose their reason, swallowing so much light. The face given and the face witnessed separate ever so slightly. Fitted to that distance, the mask weighs in unseen.
Shape given up to shine, the portions that have blinded reside in their stories. Radiance makes a mess of once clean object, bowing and tuning the light that strikes just so. Photons plume like wind swept smoke, spiking and curling in vivid cloud. Giving up facts so careful they are fictions, secrets that seem like divination that ought to be taken as simple asides. Matter caught in such bothersome press and orbit always an addition to all the besides the points. Leaving to much to imagine, too many words loose at once.
The world is too bright for my eyes. The swarms upon glass colored wing, the flocks upon painted flickers. All of the reach and bloom the green insists on. Bundles of carbon and metal and flecks of what could be gold dashing on streets of pitch and grit. Everything all song and sway, every motion brush strokes and stipple, I turn away from so much light to see. Instead I plow these fingertip cyphers and raised intentions. I return to some ghost laden recipe, and get everything wrong at once.
It seems slow then all at once the gray wall shifts, color spilling from every surface of each once worn shadow. Brighter all at once the world loses just a little, all that solar nurture a sudden blinding to tiny blessings. Eyes dull their focus, or chase everything that is bright and lively. Eyes lose their reason, swallowing so much light. The face given and the face witnessed separate ever so slightly. Fitted to that distance, the mask weighs in unseen.
Shape given up to shine, the portions that have blinded reside in their stories. Radiance makes a mess of once clean object, bowing and tuning the light that strikes just so. Photons plume like wind swept smoke, spiking and curling in vivid cloud. Giving up facts so careful they are fictions, secrets that seem like divination that ought to be taken as simple asides. Matter caught in such bothersome press and orbit always an addition to all the besides the points. Leaving to much to imagine, too many words loose at once.
The world is too bright for my eyes. The swarms upon glass colored wing, the flocks upon painted flickers. All of the reach and bloom the green insists on. Bundles of carbon and metal and flecks of what could be gold dashing on streets of pitch and grit. Everything all song and sway, every motion brush strokes and stipple, I turn away from so much light to see. Instead I plow these fingertip cyphers and raised intentions. I return to some ghost laden recipe, and get everything wrong at once.