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l i g h t as a feather

a slender tether, l i g h t as a feather
blown by heaven blessed winds across foreign seas
supplicant in tabernacles of chimera graven images died and cast
painted shadows move in and out of focus losing frame, contextual
disintegration occurs at a s p e e d a pace which no clock may ever chart,
time to smarten up the race is nearing close to the quick by some
universal wrinkle likened to a cosmic quirk twisting tendrils
sending signals in the forms of weather
hearkens about the globe like some dissonant musical storm
expressing to beings so involved with entities of uncertain such is self
regarding all that is and is not known
a slender tether, l i g h t as a feather
b l o w n . . .

Poetry by Chaucer Whethers