Food is excellent,
almost smells necessary.
So does everything that possesses you
If only people could turn off the clock and wean themselves from his
nefarious purposes…
You feel five feet wide and are at least 1.
On the counter,
chocolate in all his attractions. Do not listen to him.
Eat your salad.
This is hate.
Your teeth flicker on and off.
Your bones shrink in disgrace.
The bones of bones are my bones,
White and hard
In the heat of the heat.
We who forget God can drink together,
Listening to human harassment and murder outside
In dark darkness.
What are the smallest of the names of the words?
How can I interpret cats?
Older endless books?
Melodramatic Mondays?
What a day,
low, soft, and warm as it pleases,
boasting of kittens.
My face is full of static
My eyes are absent grace.
What signal can my hands claw for
Beneath this sky scored by power lines?
I am a receiving blanket.
I am a receipt.
In the best houses I am not received.
Watch me decode messages buried in my doughy skin.
Lush lights linger lightly on my legs.
Excess ecstasy jerks in my finger tips.
I have too much of myself.
I am smoldering.
My old jeans make juice from jam.
I’m going to take my face off
and dance with the band.
Please understand.
Dark pink lyrics weave baskets beneath an umbrella.
What invisible hands,
What spacious choruses,
What softly glowing tendrils of words
fill the air,
swelling and shrinking like breath.
What can I put in those baskets?
Old ledger books of unceasing desire?
The sardonic cold of January?
How about a day,
soft with down and warm with good will,
chirping for a deft farmer?
Synthetic oceans tug at my private world,
The glorious ripping tides from two pink moons.
To ameliorate is pink.
What swims beside my boat,
Wheat colored, round toothed, bipedal –
That I cannot recognize as one of my own?
Insinuating sorrows imply
I haven’t earned my crags and gashes.
What a diamond life I lead
Under equally asymptomatic rain.
In the indispensable dark
A radio waits
Fuzzy with signal.
Can you hear my hunger in the static,
The sound of my teeth gnashing overlaid
With the crackling
Like music?
I wear a necklace of thirst.
My forehead is emblazoned with
The idea is in the umbilical cord.
My shoes light up.
I cannot walk without marching,
Dance without dreaming,
Scream without reading.
I carry a satchel of books.
The first one reads,
In the aftermath are bunnies and prose.
The second reads,
Math is Armageddon.
The third reads,
Armageddon was yesterday. The aftermath
Is bunnies and prose.
Miniature Moon 