what plinth-moment is this, allowing the display of bark:

twisted, straight, or notched with achievements? a swing-

set attaches pathways to opportunities, weaving shadow-

lines into an iron crown. & the real presence logs

in each morning by walking poems around the rocks,

alert to small movements beneath a crumpled tarp-.




-aulin. part-serpent, part windsmith, the shroud-tarp

wraps sections of darkness into itself. bite worsens bark,

at least in this imagined scenario, tripping on sharp rocks

in the rush to hospital or clinic, struck heel swing-

ing with painful defiance. then there’s a line of cut logs,

mute & afraid, like bystanders or disciples in shadow,




having denied everything by the fireside. each shadow

betrays its origins in the bruise of sky, like the flat tarp

strung up as background. heading out beyond the logs

of prophecy there’s a river & a tree, yet, the claim of bark

is the claim of a textured present. the expedition must swing.

between corrugations & smooth surfaces, between rocks




& hill-sliced moments. if people mute themselves, the rocks

will cry out. but if they unmute, then the hungry shadow-

folk gather on the edges of screen. knowing this, the swing

rises to touch the horizon, pausing for a second as the tarp

flaps with a measure of acclaim. a gap in the tree’s bark

can grasp the universe in its ocular supremacy, staring down logs




that have been portioned & measured. the tiny webcam logs

its own reality, light glinting outside the terms of reference. rocks

& stones like boxes ready to be ticked. mene mene… dogs bark

at the sight of a disembodied hand, those scrawled orders, shadows

of untranslated dawn in handwritten snatches. meme meme… it’s a tarp!

typo or textual variant, sun grasps pen at a banquet, time swing-




ing in massive arcs, psalming the hundreds of open tabs where swing

voters weigh the future. thanks to democracy then, the camera that logs

discontent, gifting small victories like sparrows. note the forensic tarp

descending as though the world consisted of sheer evidence, as rocks

tumble down the hillside, exiting the administration’s bubble, shadow-

blending the unthinking with the unthinkable. unruly grass, hard bark,




unused swing-set: what untraveled route sighs in the billowing tarp?

what shifts with the wind’s reversals, as silent logs prepare their bark

for an offering & a shadow catches breath between the rocks?