Probabilities of the ocean’s third eye,
Beaming financial mysticism,
Cast a gazing net. Captured, I am photonic meditation,
Welcoming dilation of purpose. And so,
The horizon follows the ferry,
Hoarding happenstances to survive,
So I can gasp. We brave loopy few seek the claim of clouds,
For us — plagiarists of earth. We,
Nature, seek replication of nature
From dirt: So we can call the shape ours. Then envision heaven,
To Governor’s Island,
Surrounded by the insomniac city
Of amnesiac sleepers: Lego-mismatched people dispel distance,
Wiggled to connection on temperamental ground, Pier to pier. Tier to tier. And so,
The horizon follows the ferry,
Hoarding happenstances to survive,
We follow the visionary spine through scoliosis of circumstance.
We galvanize limitations for skill, mastering the broken skylight where a future falls. And so,
The horizon follows the ferry, hoarding happenstances to survive, bartering aliments
For manifestation
Via transportation. Pier to pier. Tier to tier
The sharp, razor-thin balance of Governor’s Island. And so,
The horizon follows the ferry,
Hoarding happenstances to survive. We’re obsoleting mortality,
Almost circumnavigating the peninsula, of Godly Possession.
But death is not an island. We vomit magic on watermelon-skies.
I spit pitfalls for fun when sandstorms of silk gust along the shore.
The gaze of death reflects scenery
Within, for I travel well inside.
Bustling awareness cuts the deluge of silver weather:
The sun’s spirit of lemons is squeezed to rain purple,
Quarantined from time, so a hurricane’s toddler can sleep,
Adjacent from wakefulness of sunlight, adjacent
From blue dusk visiting pink evening, adjacent from the cityscape’s kaleidoscope,
Spiraling reflections of paradise psychics. And so,
The horizon follows the ferry, hoarding happenstances to survive,
Among probabilities of the ocean’s third eye, I’m safe, meditating on its dilation.
The light of me enters water.
Steven Leonardo Clifford hybridizes different artistic identities into a hodgepodge of experimental disciplines: While he’s primarily a poet, Clifford proclaims to be a gonzo historian, currently chronologizing his experiences as art director and co-founder of the local zine, THE SCENE. He also practices street journalism, providing coverage for open mics, sometimes included in his zine’s newsletter, Blood Cells.