From Mandorla
analyzing inter-office mail

for knowing: a clear memography alone may leave
in place each trace of all internal written stats
and keep you steno-pooled abreast of notes,
without demurs with excess ruse to ratify
or fax along at unrelenting market-ears;
for post-effect analysis or show: if cleansing all
that broken visual lines might clear
leaves still-life thoughts and alphabets
with lucky letters laden with regret,
the up-to-date and metrified shall gauge
and likely lull you thus until you’re free.

golf-ball sized hail

soon spread the shield
in lengths under foot
came-teeming many tails
the paths of torpedos’
untamed vertical flight,
crowds in the wake of
an untimed night-log vessel:
the tag-question fear
of crystalline rounds,
what, after the fact, is.
the storm is
passed and left its map,
the wet-hard scents of
somewhere else’s tapestry:
all invoked to envy
the envoy heavens deemed
and sent.

Letters of Wonder

for want of an unknown n
you underline and come clean
to whet other than an appetite
(for wellness, welcomes, claires-de-lune)
then slide past mixed floors of access
over doors of waves
under a wharf of abundance in excess
and waxed-over trails of light
— days, not, and night —
(the wane of many lunar settings)
finally granted your unlisted request
(to ignore a petite tythe
you’d pay to harbor off desire)
and, thoroughly-wandered, you arrive.

An Oversight of Supervision

A watchman, calculated capable
of an overtly outbound gaze or
a quick glance over the shoulder
to gauge the speed of unbound frames
and motion-free induction alike,
locked down by an oversight of supervision,
by allied pay-per-view stares,
praying the purveyors keep him
always an underling.

Finally a fragile bone
in the weakened wing of fowl
torn like a page from the nest of flight.
A subwayed and unsightly mass
of vapor rising to dissipate
in a fitful field of vision,
screened sededuced and left
with empty wrists
looking over a survey of
simple-handed visage,
countenances facing in place.

Charles A. Perrone