by Maxwell Kuhl
On a windy afternoon, sun-swept
in a kingdom of clumsy kings and by them
the indifferent shade of their own inertia
carried on, massive, cloud-like and strange.
On a sullen day, quiet with mourning
grown impatient, aimless and angry
heartfelt and heavy in breathing and
hurriedly into empty space, at odd angles
on the grayest green in the brightest blue
undying, unchanging and starry
swelling sweet pain as evening approached, uneasy
the light drawing down, no pleasure,
just release. No joy, just the calm coming now
and all together, in rushes, in flashes, in time, in ire
all our questions will be answered, or lost.