New Occidental Poetry

From This Way to That

Perfect squares all laid together
prism of a suggested gesture
that in our sleep we feign as secret,
lulling me down
from this way to that.

Shapely shards of purest light,
contained within a boundary tight
backdropped to the velvet black
something calls
from this way to that.

Weaving a tune, all contours, smooth,
shapes cascading justly.
I hear the sirens’ call in reverse,
sussing me thusly
from this way to that.

A liquid paisley oozes over
my orientation, until I’m not located
in any equation.
Drawing me forth
from this way to that.

- Jared of The Great Order