If I could
walk on water,
I would

walk atop
the red carpet
in the Gulf of Mexico.

Buttered haven,
sting-y patterns
in the news

like a lashing
I whispered

a "Chinese whisper"
& it was
like a repeat

of nineteen twenty-nine
...the Great Depression.
The eyelids

of America
are swollen--
words limit

the enquiry.
Perhaps I'm on
the right track now.

Days ago,
I thought
of places to visit.

Those double
are beyond me now.

I commute
to music,
having lived

without noticing
the edge,
never seen,

torn from
obvious severity.
I had an

unerring grasp
of the
unfunctional muscle

that drifted away
like a lazy day,
precipitately cloudy,

as if
I had

my mother's

for our
native land.
My goal now

is to
peacefully attack
that part of

the human mind.
The talk of
ushering in

a general
like a

ploughed field,
are pajama'd

of splendid comfort,
ablazed in
feudal time

little touches
of levitation.



Language; its butterflies
swiftly gliding like a boxkite.

Words should make us spark
until we bloom into
levitating stars
that meet
the falling stars
before they make themselves



Cut a circle out of a shadow.
This is what you did. I must have
imperfected our eclipse when
I reached out to snip it with
dull scissors. I'm all a-drum.
One cannot solve the stalemate now.
I'm greenish-white transparent leaves
in the sunlight. Oh! oh! oh!
Your eyes were like force-grown
potatoes, romanticized in a
famous magazine, overwhelming
my eyes at the same time
within the core of the image.
I'm not at the breakfast table writing this,
I hope you know. I just wanted
to tickle the tip of your nose
for a moment. But I exited my lodgings,
tugging at the curtain of the wizard;
our words now mummified,
chiseled into history, the way our
treks perhaps still make the grass whisper,
the way our footprints still rise
to the surface of the sweet earth.