S.G. Mallett

title: of self-runnels, quale, and their hieing

exergue: in verse for determineer questing

body: sidereal reality, oak limns in oak limbs
you felt felt under all gloam dims————

telluric solemn trodden loss—
finding faces in the lichen moss

froth fails, falls forth and hands from form— 
within infinity, of often singing tongues warm

one thought dove, traces, draws out other thoughts in sighs
sur-face—trace each, tendrilled thoughts incise—————

then, now, all—————
sing, no matter how small

marrow to the bone moon, latent————
dove, set to rest—above all, patient, patient

S.G. Mallett was born and raised. Former ennui siphon, current null wielder, and concurrent student of uxorial phenomenology, he enjoys watching birds with his cats (plural) and eating birds with his wife (singular). His poems appear in various corners of the internet, and his limbs appear in various corners of the forest floor.