A trail of | words | The words are salt and ruins, forbearance, hands | You follow them, they lead to the | full stop, then lilacs, then a bus | heading into town… | When you try to pick up the trail | of words again, the salt | has lilacs mixed in with it, and the ruins | are rebuilt with | menus from | coffee shops and | a small | pyramid of sugar you | spilled | on a white table cloth | in a café | Turn the cut | gem | this way and that | you won’t | get to the heart of it, or if you do | a new trail of words will | lead you away again | maybe to a moral, or just | an otaku fantasy?

Tiny | stories | The narrative | of electrons | clouding a nucleus | the atom’s tale | of zinc or silk || Silence might be seen as the | cumulative effect of | billions of stories, and the billions | of spaces between | each of the stories || All the tales | all told | the sleep will be | tremendous, ferns | around a hidden spring, but quickly, I believe | ants will scurry hither and | thither | as a giant robot | of aquamarine and gold | crashes through the forest and leaves a trail | of wrecked vegetation and | disturbed earth | then has vanished | into fragile pixels and a | tenuous memory || When the money ran out, they | pulled the production


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)
(this poem, March 2013)