Reintegration Loops

After the scholars leave, a miracle occurs
Inside the tabernacle of their memories
The occasion is etched perfectly,
Spinning up an exact replica of every single detail lived

When they come back together, this power
Runs in full display as the memories show off
Every line, feature, rise, and lull
That took place between them in their encounter

Perhaps it helps that when they gather
They only talk about the last time they met,
An occasion when they discussed
The prior meeting’s agenda of the gathering before

We Are the Language Here

The best proof is a familiar one,
apparent in the form

Of a leaf and the branches
the leaf grew from

It is in the seed’s wings
that carry it in the wind

Or the proboscis
of the fertilizing butterfly

Is it all pretty?
Sure, and that is irrelevant

Along with camouflage
that tricks a predator’s eye

Plus the complexity
at play within those lenses

None of it points to a creator,
Only to an architect

And any architect implies
there is a contractor

But who? You and I reading
the blueprints for design

A way for the cosmos to show
we are here and needed

Garnet Harbor

Incursions in the morning,
is the sky wounded and red because I broke out

Or is the city gathering up
and throwing away a fire taken from the world?

Winds rolling along my limbs
try to stop me with their howling confessions

But temptations of the docks
are stronger than chances to glean absolution

On the waterfront, the world
lays down a deck of unfolding designs to scry

Black ships pierce and sail
along the horizon, floating pyramids and hotels

From shore to shore, a rebirth
of cargo and destinations, rewards of new use

Claim Your Jar Today

When will I stop overpaying on my car insurance? When
will I begin to pay it? And when will I get my car?
I never wanted one, until now, seeing what I am missing out on,
another deal, another steal, a sudden way
to get one over on others has opened up, and I want it to take me

Maybe then my scores will finally rise, my days will be
a bonus, and the hours no longer tiny devices that prolong a life
that keeps losing on the draw, and why?
Because I am of the eligible, newly worthy to know a secret
that unlocks a hidden world of fabulous savings

Schmutz and Length

In the morning, the estuary of possibility swirls
And flows in between the bed and front door

Each step across the hardwood and tiled stone
Brings in the heat of an afternoon coalescing

Hints of the trimming future hours undertake,
Potential adventures cut off at the budding branch

Ben Nardolilli is a theoretical MFA candidate at Long Island University. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Door Is a Jar, The Delmarva Review, Red Fez, The Oklahoma Review, Quail Bell Magazine, and Slab. Follow his publishing journey at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.