Soft, Floating Smiles

Soft, Floating Smiles

I could swear upon a hundred days
that the formal life leads to death,
that my chin could break in rigor
with soft, floating smiles.

The eyes stern form pity for the idle self,
that I may call a worn vision the fire
that clings after burning,
and the wish of bane in joyful wiles.

Boiling Watch

Boiling Watch

The ambition
of the hands meet the ripples
of a mind plain,
where blue jay penetrate urge
of staid claws
into the boughs vibrating
with fragrance - still
with its course emptying, kind
smells lower eyes.
Unfurling the blinds over
glass, where to see
through is denying sight that
burns at night, lifts
the blinding glow
of day - whoever watches
forgets the time.