to be, or to stand upon:
that is the question
every man asks
of an island; and
were it not for
water
he would find himself
unreal
and perhaps alone

arrangements
never made
but born

in the beginning
a stone for moving
fell

flat earth dust
round
to some eye

no matter
other wise
men were same

as deathless space
not empty
not full

but inside
movement
to some eye

arrangements
never made
but born

sunspot love
immersed in dream

I remember
now past now

were
weren’t
aren’t
are

the waking container
split open

it
you
drowns

when I have eyes
I swim

Hypocrisy stinks
like half-rotten fruit.
A hand for the seconds:
a pie in the oven.

sail seed
own her ship
known her less ease
land is power
water free

to float own
a piece of four
mer direction

strong
straight back
in vented anger
there is always
a weak vacation
an out

upward
is the moment
the drunken power
of a year

planted
we take
we wait to be found out

man grove

focus gone never was
water thoughts wet not soak
relative is not intensity

anxious pull of magnetic fields
feel the nerves
like hands on the grey

your patterns return slowly
in the meantime: fear
creation and fear

rhyme returns
and reason dissolves
you have the list

sound holds you in
as vision, floating
tempts you with unconsciousness

it goes in
takes up residence
before you mean anything by it

cadence
language
form

better than vision ever could
it protects you
keeps you here

adherence is consciousness
sticky you wait
for calm

the nervous run
from sedation
from loss

you seek the familiar
at any cost
the organic still

old and new
you want only to stay
together

paper
your new
brain

ink
your
selfish old

the readers
they watched
you

their eyes
were always yours
to close and open

I liked your clothes until I saw you naked
in front of your closet you were small and
feeble and I kept thinking how could you
ever wear all of those and still be naked?

I remember the first time I opened your
passenger door and you said to me what
do you think of my car you’re an attractive
lessee for sure but it wasn’t really yours.

I stole the money from under your mattress
before I left last night it’s here with me in
my hands like unrolled wedding rings I
wonder if you know about hermit crabs.

I loved the time when you hadn’t shaved
and you smelled like pee and you fucked
me you were so drunk unashamed there
was no agreement then only agreement.

I smelled you before I left and it was soap
it wasn’t you so I took your money and
bought a bus ticket to where lungs own
the smoke before they breathe it out.

be have words play
scribe de fiance

pre fix broken breast swell
mis tresses miss pell mell

joiner re join duress
wood worker and seam stress

cruel treatment of one an other
two fer one love, one mother

he builds her a place
to hang from her face

an express shun
remorseful pun

lava word splayed
buried poem prayed

the fun in the said
a name in her stead

he lies in her bed

time stops in
jammed high road streets
and exhumes the people
their underground coffee

cri de coeur spray
smears
their mirror-shine
see thru people shields

uniquely packaged
they wait for strokes of
luckless inspiration
poise incarceration

death they hazard
in the soft shoulder marsh
on memory peat they already see
paper flowers and a Jesus

good husband loving father
your laugh your smile
wear now the detour
it is the new way home

for lorn umber
color folk its
yellow yolk
its brown yoke
between two farm animals:
a thousand were kings
philosophy mined
their pigment their sound
their names made or found
foreign graft unwound
live stock culture
it took between
to make same:
whole of piece
yes of no
a word is their child