the sail breaks the leaving song
of terms for resisting simplicity
molded to the secret that the windows are inept
at interrupting the zig-zag of mocking where
the film of sunlight begins to help the pacing temporary people
execute the indicated closeness the voice jumbles
to know when to identify the ache as a pounded residue
cutting through the object of rigging further power,
seeing the specimens of contained nervousness
intimidate inheriting the theater in the self
with a sense the storm terms remain aligned
no matter how the fabricated venture channel sharpens the eyes:
the pendulum weakens measuring the mostly private script
for how to fit the tale of being on the curve
while the instant fails to settle into finished lights
closer to the accident of hearing someone tap the side noise
to synchronize rotation of identity
mechanically allowed to spill its memories
no matter what the pain:
the words encroach on storming the wanting lock to land the dive
emptier than sharpening the last glorified moving sense
of how to keep the spiral looking simple
as a perfect way to shed the wing
leading to each other through an ocean of doubt
that stages the dreaming crash in parallel
with measuring the silent unity of every form of spirit knife
barely corrupt

Jim Rosenberg's home page o Poetries o Linear Works o The Winding Interval