Off the Rail (inspired by Kurt Vonnegut Jr.)

Throw for off the rail
the water below is deep, and frail
so tasked with holding me-
in rigor mortis, the bodies are
buoyant even for lack of presence
within them

Throw for off the rail
and the straight lines built,
still there is control
floating on one current of water
or another to another.
    So it goes.

His will not saved

Tree staring ambrosia. The sleek clutter of words--
words that follow lines,
and ones that don't, calm, cunning-
-ly blooming aloof the wide boughs just beyond sight,
all stalking the writer,
and he doesn't even know where they come from.
Words, jungle cats, lurking under the leaves,
working unseen until the pounce,
and the blood that seeps from him
feeds the ground all around his depart-
-ure and entrance. He is an atom,
each broken analysis for social amusement
precious electrons stuck to him in orbit
for now and the time being,
as he slowly leaves himself behind.

Depth

I enshrined a glass onion,
in front of my sunrise window
and every morning the light
diverges into prisms, I fall
through the bound layers
into the center that I
can never quite see.