i walked to the bank. sideways like a hammer.
i stayed like a grocery list.
confound the yellow birds.
something just outside. picked up the pins.
the pins are me.
i drifted like a folding chair.
screaming stairwells of dandelions.
sweaty tee of lsd afternoon.
paperbag poems in a transcendental tin.
april of lost galoshes. blackhole feet.
he says all the wrong words
rain angels of sunset bikes
simple math for underwear
the heart that exudes soil
the feet that fit the excess of light
he says all the wrong songs
the popsicle moon was no bird
terrific wind knuckles i brave upon my head
the feet of dusk are a fever and forever
a guillotine of wildflowers
I want to shake hands
With a rain drop’s lungs
Wallow in the dust of stars
Drink the wings of
Penniless thorns
Untie the fins from the
Moon
Ride into the downright incomprehensible
On an outright silliness
How the broken plates resembled
The moon. This was no accident.
June asked, may I march
In April puddles before
I am August? If this banter
Is likeable, neither are you.
The sky is clear of its misgivings.
The heart shirtless of its understandings.
A vibe of sunshine
Goes without shear.
Who will collect the saw
Dust from the changing moon
When we are gone?
death is just the jam
butters my intolerable happiness
death is karate moons
a fan belt needed to cool my radiating exuberance
so i do not outgrow the grave
death is a joke
achieves its aesthetic success
marvels the audience
till they too are on their feet
whispering to stars
if puddles
passed on
DNA
reflections of
elbows
and the biceps
of stars
if puddles had a hairline
to matter about (and they do)
would they grow old
to stir the square
add asides
a pompadour on a rhombus
a quiet
that sold its hands for yearbook promises
a stubborn blue
with numerous white birds
for walking shoes
two birds
in a tree
one is as unique
as our sun and moon
the other
common
as a roll of toilet
paper
—-
a child
went to the river
holding a cobweb
of the sun’s green perfect little
eyes
he stood staring
at the rubble of water
—-
a fish
with dry
whiskers
as it swims
has a way
of not making
a sound
the moon
is a fish
that can hear
the rain
