fractals in the wind
windswept tendrils grasping for handholds
little twigs off of the mast pole
fastening onto space in the world,
the next threshold, which can close up
flushing to unmitered air, for now
sIt there, sway there, strengthen, manifold,
branch off, grow, spilt, hold-
somewhere between snap and stability
Is the enough, or, now that you got it,
and you fucked the cut up
it's not yours anymore, its lumber-
unburdened wood is no more than
measurements, fast tactful beviling
hemoraging energy for the amenity of a
tree finding its own purchase,
at least in our work ethic-
on the surface it seems pedantic,
wood and it's frantic search for manic perch
splintering like the off cut ends if cut ends
also are worth something














