the spider that wove my house
has only loaned it to me.
At my table,
cigarettes burn and puff
from nothing.
Everything is an appearing act
in a universe of inexplicable birth.
When the spider lumbers back from
his hunt,
I will be given a key to my blood,
and I will live in my life
like wet in water.
I am making a copy of five dollars,
five water pipes,
five needles.
The closure of weather
Leaves the continental castle confused.
Today is an apartment,
With five undisciplined disciples
Learning to make music from movement.
I am a mystic,
The visions of my ears divine.
Moving faster than math,
I ride the train to the city.
Lines, gradations, numbers.
So many nice colors,
Cool chaos,
The air slick with liquid nitrogen.
An ornament,
My education dangles
from the tree in city center.
In the reservoir,
My distilled ambition eddying.
Through the equation of church bells,
A garland of neon loss.
Which sun is silent, low?
The near one that blinds
Or the farther that fries?
In a clear city,
rumors
give you an inert art.
I have the red envelope.
Inside,
A letter to short romantic desires.
Above,
My blinking search.
The watchman guards his watch.
The heavens crack.
Our teeth fill in the gaps.
During the summer,
shining in my mouth,
the mirror you use
when you delete your names,
hard as dreams.
You will disappear to deny it.
I write a thesis on sneakiness
And thieving.
Time of molded bread,
famine dance.
In the background,
a man,
little fire of love.
You open the windows to me,
but shut up all the doors,
comment on my perfect blood.
During our mutual culture,
your flashlight sprouts at a time
strained power goes out.
Guns
in front of my text.
At my window,
A gun.
In my mind,
extraordinary sexual and living acts
Demonstrated in dark colors.
The scales of the grain feed
Swaying with an unconscionable math.
After the man’s house grows rats
to provide labels and epidemics,
One will advise you at home while you die
out of the hail of the heat,
found in water spots.
A leading word from you,
a call from your clouds,
would flood me,
dry in the valleys
without you.
Eating smiles,
You leave your central home without thought.
You do not need shoes.
The world is bearing your hardships,
with broken kingdoms flapping in the wind.
Your heart considers me,
My high gloss weeping and homey pleading,
And donates your medicinal attention
elsewhere.
The clinging skin of hunting dogs
As they trespass on the neighborhood
hungry.
Keep me humble.
Food is an escape artist,
so I have built a gold vault
To secure it while I doze recklessly.
Not everyone has the materials
to do this.
It took me years.
Not everyone has the time.
Some homes shrink to caskets.
Some nations sink to graves.
The faces of the unfortunate
become corn seed.
Red river conveying women’s hearts
in baskets.
Through windy reeds, a foreign song.
Will the king open up the window sash
to let the lonely wail of bereft
motherhood curl up at his fire
like an unloved cat?
Sitting on the riverbank,
the queen of carnage
sees one glitter.
Wades in.
My private demon is winning
My wine hazy spirit.
The sunset cools
on a small snowfall.
The shining light,
it’s always washed in bleach.
Endless beach,
tears.
Sometimes we cry for our own sake,
cold,
and there are no boxes to contain
our needy mouths.
We all have been an empty harvest.
We have not been sown.
It’s easy,
to breathe tears into the body,
eyes to see.
In the fireplace,
every representative of the land.
Miniature Moon 