∝

what you are seeing now has no meaning.

a collection of letters
combining into words
translating into noises
gaining their meaning

that is, after becoming
                                 noises
via your head

sight has nothing to do with it—
words have nothing to do with it—
sounds [the perceivable ones]
have nothing to do with it—

this is
           a collection of noises:

when hummed,
                      universally meaningless.

As far as I know, there was no extremely violent storm in Boston at the time of that conversation, but what do I care, I'm a poet |V . The title is the last line.

here,
invisible arcs of the sun
create brilliant blue auroras
softly dancing on this polar platform
although a few
softer greens
move quietly and deliberately
for hours on end.

beneath,
the red echo of sprites and elves
leaps up in finger-shaped branches
for a fifty-mile long
hand shake.

past,
blue jets from cloudtops
and the invisible tension
of a million raindrops
nervous over gained weight.

under,
an onslaught
of falling bodies
unites with ceilings, concrete,
dirt, rivers, upward palms

a telegraph operator
with no batteries
asks
“How do you see my writing?”