I need to fool you,
A bikini of sand washed ashore on a tongue of stars, betting against height on a swing set of sky,

This is no different though it looks the same,
I know I know, it’s not the same,

Someday I’ll shake hands with butterflies like sideburns on the dark side of the sun

Flowers
Are the copper pipes
Of the night

Silence
Crashes
Into the earth
Picks up the sea by its verbs

As thick as lightning
And doused in laughter

Charged to pursue
The cave paintings
Of distance

How does the person reason out the threadbare guts of being alive

A love of a loaf of the daring knees of a skinny spring

The inhale of muddy sky and the breathing rain

The ramble of birds and I have not the know of April wrists and fall and drown of the embrace of cloud and soil the rocks and waters and the heave of left it all in the grave grace

Seemingly the distance seldom is alone who is there?

A subtle maybe
Of dusk
Is in the hips

An attentive pinch
Of self is
A bright aboriginal quiet
Doing pull ups in the dark

A piano fell
On you
But has yet to land
And never will

The self settles like a pencil
In a toaster

Whose legs are imaginary numbers

Sweeping sidewalks for
Enlightenment

Needless to say the self
Is wheel ruts if you let it

Speaking drastically
The oomph that is not the self
Presupposes silence

I have made a diorama
Of a mirror
And left it on a driving
Board

Jump

A slight solitude
Like a jump rope
Of tin swans

Asks what
bedraggles
The capitalism
Of napkins

A purple sweater
Is a slight solitude
Of color

I answer with a joy darker then
Umbrellas

I answer with joy dancing
On its hands

A slight solitude is a bear
Hug of ghosts

An ephemeral knock knock joke

The knuckles of early April pushups