in which without a need love sees you
particles for pentecost

after scatology

“Poets should get back to saying crazy shit / All of the time” —Dorothea Lasky

 

1)
You can like or not like the end. Excluding

the bright and inconsiderate consequences of

Liking colors camera-like synaptic & cohesive.


2)
Look here’s the resolution you’ve been seeking all week!

These are not smart people. Not even kind. They are ours.


3)
A portion will be donated. To an act of faith. Obedient.

You can assume the fiction. All that heaviness allows.

Will be allocated. Upon receipt of your declarations.

Our good will. A defiant temper. Coming here in roses.


4)
Reading poems but not Poetry has been good for your skin.

When water implies a pasture. Then a crazy barking my love.

A perennial inability there announces Me in grimy glory.


As old maniacs pronounced it. Jedermann. Sein. Eigner.

You get it. A stumble near the goal. An urgent heave-ho.

To the line. Concussive. Blasted infrastructure. A bruise.


5)
Lightly. As usual. Silent. In it. Silent. As usual. In light.

Comments

The comments to this entry are closed.