eight books :: easy form
soft as an indeterminate length of string

what it cost at the line


is past … waiting in praises

a whole bunch … a whole bunch of picassos

looser for the looking … tablets …

a number of pages of sheets of pages …

lightning in the rooms I imposed

a secret … “the meaning of the world” … here

you can’t have it … but the memory of

the color he called “blue” … that …

abundantly … until the next arrangement

for forgetting … all the French I learned


a god poem a god poem in high grass and a god poem looking out from clean windows.

it’s better not to type but my calligraphy’s gone rotten so thus and this.

staring is it back at you every prayer staring back. at. you.

this is not god and this is not a good idea you’ll run out of god and words for it.

and listening’s not part of it it’s just the room you hear crackling in a fire.

figure. and here it is. one figure bold per line posing as a shy character.

then there are no figures but shadows off to coffee then on to work.


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