Piquant wood shavings build houses from one another. Natural selection, the choices of the man in the barn with his saw. The light chooses not to touch those with old tongues any longer.
If I went to the light, I would find a locket of gold.
Choices are envious of boxes. To make a choice is to sew yourself to something that runs faster than you can.
When choices are all spooled out and the thread is cut, what remains is a saw and a veil of night.
Balloons murmur at Velvet’s party. So much soft rubbing in the dim light. Silks and their secretaries took the night off for this. Behold the lonely dark in the corner, desperate for touch.
The well off at the ossified marina count the crusty salt crystals. Orange corn poking from the windows of my old home dare me to grind my teeth on it. At the mouth of the bay of wine, bad memories teeter. The division between food and teeth is stark. The division of drink and thought soft. She strays from the wine to my old house and its belligerent farm.
Two invisible legs of glass. Six yellow as yolk. Fiberglass hairs. Flippant fangs.
The house does not stop running. In my snare drum diagram, it indicates a problem with things that don’t make a sound.
He’s crawling into your purse…
The terrible thing about scissors is you’re so cute… before you hold them. What masticates on hair so fruitlessly grown, and then spits out a tree? Botanists are handbooks of chitin and its meaning.
The basket is left
Solid pink –
The polka dots dieting
Subtraction is valued.
Less is more
Is the theory
But what is more?
It cannot be less
Where do the little
White polka dots go
When they subtract
The pink from themselves?
I lost my temper.
I have not found him.
I slip through my day.
I don’t make a dent.
It’s not all about me, is it?
With less weight,
Those who lose their
Tempers
Travel faster.
At the end of a cough
I found myself on the
Rough-hewn coast
In the home
I wanted.
Crazy stuff that women do for zippers. Shrink your violin. What has happened to me? I used to rule the world. Now mercenary companies catalog my vivisected victories. I am a dictionary. I am a zucchini. Plant therapy for the second half of the community.
Name of our last daffodil
This amphibian plays fiddle
Why not blow away the rain?
First, throw up the lights. Now you can move. Track down a sparrow for hire. Do you know how to handle a problem with a cape? Strap the house to the humane society. No one stands you up or puts you down. No 50 dollar donation and a signed form to give you any mercy. Go beg. Get that sparrow.
Why do knives chip?
Sparrow plead with them for my years still locked in the morning vault.
Work in progress.
Miniature Moon 