Unrevised, in–process verse, and so forth
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Taste of tea which is too strong alongside
specks of dust The one I live with is cutting card–stock
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Packed into a meadow
I've got to squat now the airborne dust with cacao—I'm shook up. The sunny day is colder than I expected.
Above ground hot promise cracked me—I lied, like a body Pour again into porcelain the shadow, the blue ink bamboo golden broth is mostly dimmed a vessel—a sliver on the side Image: of owl wearing away—wounded bite out of the right ear beside the left, music Fading against an aqua background a gaze and a pattern—dots across the white breast a flower below Fluff and I—she could speak she
spoke like Heather she needed my care, dependent "How are we going to get our vegetables?" More of my money goes to feeding her than feeding myself The fence outside the window is rocking the wind is roaring a birdie chirps Blue. Swollen. History. Saviors unhinged upon unreliable barriers—the quiet attack, the slip in the shower—watered under garden soil, blistered in July plastic packaging—links to recipes and sports hallelujah—quoting a lone yogi—forgot about the bus stop bench in Florida, the downpour, trying to make a buck, free– lancer can't get down there stuck on the sidewalk with Mom's bike—pink, soaked Amber belly, not quite anger—paused on the path:
enough noise. The pressure of earth has turned babies into gasoline. Starlight abandoned, the freeze of too absent, unsheltered, is distant from this day. Prayers down the block solidified into sandwiches—handed out in the park by the public library. Bellies capacity anger—the freeze—the dreadful misperception —an audience, an army, a fragile–breasted friend on another level —backtrack to trip a bit differently the essential steps are undone—a matter of praxis, the muscular aspiration towards a Louisville Slugger sweet spot shot into the gap How may I help you? machine greased
with uncertainties How may I help you? obstacle distracted by ground How may I help you? outlandish orchestra predictable twins: the yellow rays of raison cooker: the dregs of the silo: the magazine rack: No Grain No Pain—the genre: Nuti Books. Read: Nutty Books! the simplicity of an oat groat between teeth awaiting—commenting on the cilia, grazed Money in my cat's fur—flea eggs—in Florida
farmers awake up in the meadow before forest offers a final apology: collapsing-- who's gonna watch out for that? Fringe in breeze of doowop—dusty fairgrounds under the Boardwalk, amazed at how things are hidden and the brownest of bruises —how so few can feel it Pressing into my sweater, swollen interest in passing a way into sleeve—all the danglers hypnotizing—folks in the lawn while hips are like ocean under clothing Black into black into alleyway
tangle come grasping—branches roots in: marrow imagined and traumas all over the place Brain in a vat a flat tire on purpose puncture pr– ayer out the st– uffy old corridor be– fore the three mo– ments drift off in– to pills Broke in to places sore stress fractured worker, grab as much as I can a good press– ure French coffee got mold into fac– es [A Negative]
Never in a room alone a hellish explanation woven rug by knife dissected into digestible patterns-- overexposed apparition Vomit by fits: before an ornate (space) by in– tuition sung interest extra pad over an onion in tears, an eyelid violation and everyone honking —read and then yellow breasted guest above a shaded plastic feeder full adoptable agenda by breakfast: interrogation Impossible mechanisms after crusted artifacts—a backwash arriving—blackened how else? Out of bounds before morning
open electric: Flock a new necktie—hold it all together |
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