Empty branches scribbled
Without order between me and sunset
Slithering chaotic silhouettes
Beautiful and black against the neon sky
Neither arranged by an artist
Nor blemishing the solar curtain call
But in the sky and of the sky
Priceless and meaningless
Black ink of musty words
Rises between me and me
Framing obscuring illuminating
The chaotic vaporous laser light
Of a setting self
Scratching at order and meaning
Echoing the songs of dead poets
Priceless and meaningless
-T. Weeks
(A response to “To Get the Final Lilt of Songs”)
Life Immense 