stopping by
crickets near by jackhammer far off I

parts for patches

a morning of misreading

forgetting for forging

mourning for mounting


very little feeling left

wolfman grinds his tiny green people

left me thinking I'm galvanized zinc

and you're a lane a deep-rut but I'm zinc

effectively zinc


imperfect design


the Poet stamps commingle

with a sparkling sky a sip of juice

just approaching thunder


you can't trust me not that

i wasn't born naked or don't

stay put from sun-rise to set

but i'm of a piece with a dull

blind earth-eaten calamity if

that came to your country as

deaf to birds and rivers as

heart-lost in taking energy

for a colorful paste-board

wonderland of the special not

the ordinary performance


"any single point is actually many or none at all

the sun ... point? what's a point? .... my point

precisely ... never so clear as imprecise breath"


having read some French ones translated likely no good

no grip on a human fact fat chance of a soul or a scent


"or even gestured at prior to this point"


where all humunkind hangs out

This fleshy pink baby centered in straw sets a limit.


The comments to this entry are closed.