Jet

Through the white of my eyes,
I allow the penetration,
in the white of the clouds under the skys
I found a profound canvas of you
throw up the flag
colors of salt
miners of fault
they found me in my youth
in a child's dotted eye's
filling innocents with white lies
we thread the spirit
a bed sheet tainted in spat
patterned in a particular wounder land
noticing the stillness
images of huge excavations
spiraling
like a whirl pool through the
white of my I
to the pupil in the front of my mind
the canvas
that was born to argue
it is black