In Order Recognize

What is my diagnosis
I’m on a quest to find it
If ever anyone finds a need to critic
They will unfind anything to say
To need to quest for meaning
My diagnosis
The critic needs to know
That meditative technique to see
What is inside of me—anyone
If ever I find anyone
It is me
The critic
My diagnosis

My niece said she (ellipsis) and I

Been run over by a herd o’ kids in skates.
Who’s the mystic in this rink.
I know I can be inventive with the blades.
Saddle your hip crevices and find we have
Stalactites hanging from our very structures
Enclosed in our pockets that we learn to sew
So there are no wholes in your retainer
At this seam but keys fall and coins with lint typical they
Seem to always add metallic to your bracelet.
We can forge it
Anneal the enactments of the liver in heat.
Incinerate these bones that insinuate a body being.

We all band together blazing through the abandoned one.
Magnify the man prostrate on the glass ice.
An escapade to the horse trotting
Tracing the hind over the rind over
Stalagmites interrupting the landscape
Bulging from our collars as a goiter
So there are no whorls in you doors only cloisters
But the hinges house the termites here
Wanting wooden love on a rectangular.
We can cut it
Live real attachments out of the hardware shrunken expansion
From the cold these hairs sprout from the dirt of earth.

Less breakable the plastics everyday

2 d flowers
I wear your white/green
striped sweater
to smell your gleam
become you beaming
while you are dim in that there
den; under surgical light

Sporadic
and slow smurfs shuffle to points
dodging the cumbersome robots
feeling around the hall's walls at feeding time
like snails that serve to suck algae
from the tempered infinity glass
the doctors peek in as they pass
to read crises they expect
I am expecting a T.V.;
the nearest thing to color and movement true
anything to symbolize life in this piece--
slice slice moments.

They're trained to take your vitals
are they
doubtful they know
to test your vibrancy
masked by immobility
we have to question
timepieces worn elastic.

I miss you while you are under mossy rock
once lifted you peep
up out around the stone-colored
awake we cannot carry our shells.

We wish we didn't have to
learn how things work
by breaking them open.
It's best to abandon sometimes
to volunteer compassion
and witness.

To have today back--even with no clean laundry
wearing your last decent pair of socks
or wet shoes for the whole day standing soggy
instead of prostrate pulpy--
to keep premonitions as such
to shake your head at a man
making a petty joke
reducing wives to a simmer of authentic essence
calling him out to speak
on behalf of those he represents
clearly you compute it all...

to have a simple glitch in the sound system tonight
then shifting as a graceful globe
reading those equally accountable and innocent
for those who are still scanning
securely strapped to the crust of the earth
catching moments of radiant heat
significant anonymous pods
spreading over the surface area.

You recognize berries from the same branch
from which you grafted something similar enough
anything major you would give
to have the drama of a passing day
with errands and items on your list
to discriminate
whether your sibling or a stranger
is basing a decision on our best interest
to admire finally a father's characteristic concern
for his favorite thing:
a party.

in common

how fingers feel to land cubed and ice
how leaves and hair tickle and comb the wind
the tendon taut or tight to heroin
scalping strung tissue for injected vice

who is engineering islands to swim
for inhabiting guns strapped to our skins bared
to rift from rays of the sun and sex
and light personal moons lifting tides violent

and what the hawk achieves above
and what da vinci does to science

Sugar in a paper blanket

Thy sleeping thought alone
'Mid winter monochrome
Not ready until bleach
In clan'd secrecy

Be color: solitude
Spirits under sheets stood
Beneath the skin is will
Pumping stopping still

Night sets bright a frown
Battery kills all sound
From pretended heaven
Bells and bed are given

To preserve the perennial

We fight not to be fixed—
not to be some thing to someone.
We want to preserve the perennial
and peacefully mourn the ephemeral pretty
for the sake of seasons and cycles.
Other flowers will console
and rain drops to the same soil.
Seeds will scatter when our concrete explodes
and something new will grow.

For all our softness, we are impermeable--
numb only to numbness.
Quick violence razes careful buildings,
but a steady neglect decays deeper.

I wish we had imagi-
nations—to pretend we are not pretending
that uttering a word erases itself.

Clouds and moons we can create.
I will hold my own--keep shadows
of fondness on my drawing board
and cut the nervous out.

I still have time to become an astronaut
and learn not to worry about the bomb
but things like cabin pressure
or my distance from the earth without dying—
adapting to claustrophobic life
behind the glass to vastness. It will trouble me
not to recognize my own face in a bowl,
my body-obscuring suit, but I will not feel
susceptible to cancer nor be concerned
with conditions of the heart. It will be elsewhere—
compacted and new.
Some things will be the same,
like fighting artificial air.

Coaxing inanimate

You are the morning for purging
the collection for a new animation
I learn your evenings
posted to your window
R.I.P.ing solicitations
left by others
I am posted
to your console
coaxing pieces
from the bulk of you
your activity dust
your watercourse
my career
campaigning for your oil
I refuse your standard
ironed I am the one
who steams your glass
from my side of focus
I dodge your edges
cartoon by climate
your surface I draft
from your vanity
I judge you
none
the sole solemn Viking
on this block