Tanner Brockwell

this morning
by tanner brockwell

this morning
the coldness was like a quiet
that the silent night exhaled
in a breath of relief
into a quaint cup
steeped in the steam
of heady vapors that spun
the sensual charge of bodies
seeking warmth
shared for a moment so brief
that dark cold light is sudden
and small black rectangles of metal
cold in the weather pulsed to fill
the shaky walls of sensation
that thread of words woven
as fabrics flung again and again
draped twirled and spun mixing
so that language was now a dance
and the dance was life itself
that reveled to show that reveling
and i too can wake from foggy dreams
in the oh so cold morn

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antique memos
by tanner brockwell

antique memos
dead air
dead time
the dead line
past recompense
past only this
there in the echo
the refrain
the happenstance
for once again
there in the moment
there for a moment
i thought i saw simulty
was a rabble of coughs
and other off’s
there for what was once
the vaguest of doubts
a sudden found out
and it was gone
the vapors risen
trailed the green hill
and floating apparitions
were away before they were known

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