The Ocean Has Fled from Our Faces

Nevermind what the forecast said,
your mother knows better
She read it in the furnace fuel

Behavior indicates
strong clouds
all trying to congregate
one mass
dissipating

Ocean has fled from our faces
and this is nothing new
under our tugboat satellites

Principles of magnetry for a cell,
no different for a star
Storyline to shoreline

I have a dead man's bag
inside imploded parachutes
suffocated
a little hot air
and a handle would help
but the balloons lost
their baskets
and the loom lacks a weave

A calla lily earns her last chance
rarely hails her hand
her clear hair recedes the rain

A lean candle nearly dead
lain against a rail

Under all this land yells a creed
that chains itself to Monday

Keep Laughter Much

Another battleship cat
Down

Every faithful good house
An inquisitive juxtapose

Keep laughter much
and nobody little

Obvious passes Quebec
Rebel against supper
In a territory where
Underwear seems vivacious
Where x-rays in Yugoslavia
Zap another battleship


* abcedarian co-authored with Cedar

I love handfuls

anything with a shape
breaks, my empty shelter
collapses, my inefficient transport,
its gliterry paint
chips. From underneath my chin
I look indifferently
upon the crumbling
angles of yourself appall
at that indifference--detectable
only with a mirror. In and out of geometries
we inhabit, we traverse
our luster smears, but the kindle and hum
is someone else entirely.

Non Prescription Color Contact Lenses, or Beautiful Eyes For Everyone

Tonight, after supper, the dome of the sky will open in sections
Watch the photons swarm the entryways
the exitways

All the unborn infants have shopping lists
There’s an inflammation of naked mole rats in the turnstile

A man at a booth on the sidewalk wants to sell
a pair of scissors to snip at the excess of this day
to reuse the strips of Wednes-,Tues-, and Satur-
as tickets to an exhibit for an installation of barbed wire piano strings
suspending a pastiche marionette who plays Ella—
a man-made cubist and a hobbyhorse of a surgeon
who historically deems the appendix as unnecessary

The shoulderless sun can carry the world
The heart of the world is weightless from this window
and all it wants is your body

You can go there
with your cart of hot dogs and scarves that gravity craves

I try to kiss your feet once in awhile
You try to touch your toes
and ask,
What do we put underneath this?

citta happens

From pushy pedestrian, I grow mannered. Deep in their sockets live the heads of my femurs. Extension is white and I am still. My eyes sit back in my skull. I see my spine. My ears slip into canals. The cittam watches. One discriminating sword. The personal self suspends beyond the masks of bubbling mud beyond swarms of unrest even beyond breath. And it is not a struggle.