Not even a second, she said,
I hear her sounds
like an anchor
rattling the ground,
laudable desire for force.
If we weren't human, we would be
The cinema-of-terminal-decline
puts us squarely
in the mind
of [edit] drowsy repetition [edit]
or heavenly lobotomies,
aye, let me eat your thoughts
like a Greek-E
-nglish dictionary. And like Stein:
“You will find that all this is true
when I get through.”
What an ending to denial, I thought,
staticky stasis of throwing a fit
in lieu of emptying
bucketful after bucketful of leaking
water-heater water, quick as quick
I sliver out of the door
like a thunderclap, the words
essential to not being able to
remember the cup of
chocolate truffle coffee
that I had late tonight.
Some days, you can call me
The Absent Man.
Hear ye!
“Hallelujah” is used to score
moments of unstandard validity,
big squalls for being happy.
Every day, I feel alive
to-the-inner-teeth, soft as
cherry blossom trees in a
blurred photograph,
or intermingled within a
Brice Marden painting.
What of this indecipherable sensation,
as puzzling as the language of the
ancient Cretans.
What of these oral-formulaic
unprepared scribbles
that I jot, or jet, down
to feel knotted, my jawstructure
like a nutcracker
after writing with my mouth
opened, Time lecturing me
with unforgettable detail.



Amidst the polluted swoon, where on earth is earth?
To be seen without living inside of a body. By stare
alone: a nun chants a confession. I watch her walk away.
Not even a shadow follows in unison, like a cave's half-mystery.
Web of acquaintances, a placement of dominoes; thin disguises
without risks ransacking every part of you. Did Picasso
create peacocks? Is that an 'ex' or Roman numeral ten?
The seasons are consistently disassembling themselves.
My throat is like a vocabulary airport: words going to and fro.