III. The Book Of Barret
Equalizing a new routine,
a series of upward strokes.
The painting finds verse
in a step
and then in the pauses of atoms.
The iron corrodes and trembles
until articulated by the sound bells
it becomes and force of diametric
The coda as a kind of fish
drains the water from partitions.
No sound and fire and bent light
all over our home. Quickly,
this is something.
Quit converting (this) to sense.
Stop looking for a way to bond
the charged particles together.
The document stays pure and essence
drains from our roofs.
Some flinching and technology,
scraping hard and leaves ripped wood.
Glance back at the thought of being
small and changed. Scraping hard, leaving
I know better than that.
The red car on black stone.
The habitual gaze of hangers.
Our altitude climbs
The needle folding
and is nothing.