Roy Herndon Smith
when the sun falls hot
a man with a chainsaw cleaves
branches from the trunk
brilliance without form
and void blasts through my eyes hits
the back of my mind
whiting out my mind
lines that define flare out hot
like the greatest hits
the loud rasping cleaves
tattering banners of form
words wrapping the trunk
memories of trunk
with branches with leaves with mind
cooling into form
that enfolds the hot
immediacy that cleaves
emptiness to hits
the loss of leaves hits
like flesh thrown against a trunk
the stripped body cleaves
lost green to lost mind
mourning rages wide and hot
light blasts into form
light caresses form
from inside emptiness hits
imagined white hot
wounding of the trunk
excising green leaves the mind
before language cleaves
cacophony cleaves
tattered whole of fleeting form
ephemeral mind
enveloping hits
shattered silence of the trunk
absence rasping hot
saw cleaves language hits
form clothes strips naked white trunk
cool green mind falls hot
dust 