The sunset is a swift color by number
activity set for childlike occipital lobes.
The lines, gradations, numbers
move swifter than mathematics
on the train headed to the sheer city.
All is colorful, cooling chaos.

In my cheese grater,
my education.
In my dustpan,
delicious dead wood
I’ll toss in the yard
for the termite queen.

What a quiet, introverted sun!
She glows softer and softer until
she leads her usefulness to
someone else for a few slippery hours.

In the transparent city,
ravenous mute mathematicians
render an art ineffable.

light as my wedding ring,
the light picks locks
an open room is a dead room,
the possibility of possibilities
closed like a fist.

Open is the penultimate
killer of the night and levees.
What breaches in the dark
but an energetic lockpick
revealing the world as
gnarled as yesterday.

Punched clocks
and punched walls
the craters of the moon,
pulverized rocks in the bags.

I am beaten
like batter in my room.
Jangle.
My door swings open.

There is a difficulty in the west –

A certain sun refusing to move on.

Beyond the fence of a straightforward neighbor,

my sepulchre raided by gulls.

 

When I hear about sand and sea

meeting with salt,

who laughs,

I shred my shrine.