a quick turn toward unguided sense for a very shy person
is the true disappearance of form yet it’s enormous fun
to recognize how a faux nothing comes with grapes & bitters
sent to your room. soon dismissed as an unnecessary whiteness
my oppressions tumble trifling as unremarkable beside yours
a squiggly line between true sadness and this here these notions
that I’s too small for the making. of any thing. I lacks the scope. I lacks the organs. the tools. ever a photograph.
takes itself away from its place. lost context collides with. what I wants. if not everything. the indefinite enough. in place of nothing.
and having. to be saying. is having. I hears it. going on. high and low. life. its loved and unloved parts. all one.
a detachment stands for “hey” say this comes to you do you say
complicate it in service of a vague dread or unhappiness or to
the end the recording calms you down as practical steady wind
settles the day. your plan for the day has become much simpler
you will intercede for the sky who only wants its fair share
of the anthropomorphic frisson nearly the whole world gets at
once the poem has been published out from the imperfect box
or self polished by say this sudden spin toward quicker sense
then you can probably say it just like a normal person would
o the naughty poets the naught of poets
world made of words stood up against the all-out strangeness of the world
words made of world there's another tune