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Could be your better lives depend on accident,

to happen to fall not so much the thing

it is made like a brick to be

if brought to a rude round compass

of event eventually.

Consider what ace enlightenment seeks;

away the words the warps the dents,

when patiently we beat our metrical earth,

oil gods, increment a watchmaker’s sense:

for memories I fit exaction

throw wide the bluff of alchemy sought,

as you, communed with Descartes’ tuition,

are seed pineal, a soul coordinate.

Mystical insight!

flowery as stars’ flowers can be:

the geometer’s new rule in glandular mind

drove cog in cog as memory traced

the thinker a tinker in kind.

For certain he saw thirdly the eye,

that lair onion layered of doubt,

saw clearly the worm asleep

in the apple’s sweet mush core –

“Momentaneus!”

he blinked,

vexed, alas, in being sure.

To happen and to fall is to happen

to happen

so far afar from the nearness of heaven;

aloft as round the sea blued jar

the stony seagulls, their stormclouds

without god,

clean as a spiritus escaped

in the solitudes of control.

Two brothers thought to leave their bicycler’s trade,

their chains, their candied paints,

secretly spoked the radius

made air their circles dream;

a scheme to leap and soar,

so happen to fail to fall –

or rattle the tree and

lesser vault:

Up and up from sleep the night

when children fold straight those paper darts;

strike the chord in newspaper grass

for the way, so they say,

to fly.

In the event it is useful:

A brief bio:

Mr. Burgess is making his home in the Tidewater region of Virginia, catching up on a few

long-neglected literary projects and thinking about purchasing a caged bird.

He has a pair of titles out as ebooks on Barnes&Noble, a collection of short stories (Blue Magoo and Other); a short novel (Allumination).

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