I like what you did with the room.
What did you do away with?
I thought so.
Have feet summered
Into autumn shoes?
I brought you some icicles.
It was no trouble. The stars are cheap
Tufts of nuclear fusion.
But I would recommend a parade.
There by the window.
But you are much too quiet
For ghosts.
the billboard light
is a broken nose
and the pessimism
of pigeons
almost-
silly silly silly silly
mo
on
on stilts tightrope
lollygagging
we are almost home
An alter
Of misspelled words
A fathom
Of hurry
Shadows have headlights too
What? An appetite!
In this desert of stars
A demolition
Derby of flowers
On the surrounding
Hills.
All of this is me: hordes
Of daffodils, cloud
Shoulders, cloud arms, and cloud legs stretch
Vivaciously in me.
A bludgeon of sweetness
In the summers grass.
A cement bock of seagulls
Ripens like an apple.
Cremate my brain,
Feed it to the rain,
Till only a tantrum of dreams companions me.
Turn it over
Read it backwards
Summarize till
You are left with
The infinite
Cut it short and
Call it eternity
Skip words
Edit punctuation
Subtract
Alter
If you have access to
Another universe
Collect mirrors
Put each piece in your mouth
But don’t be a liar
June fractals lifting the moon.
Primitive words
For arriving stars.
The sun is a wooden
Sea overrun by
The shadows of birds.
Nonetheless.
The wind’s blue feet
Lost in the lonesome
Of perfect buffoonery.
Is somehow
Like the silence you would find in a
Fish bowl.
How could I not oblige?
The worn sole of the moon.
The haggle of the afternoon leftovers in
The ears.
A slapstick of terror = graffiti umbrellas.
A giggle of blood reaches out for the
Morning,
Unbuttons its curfew elevators.
Between nonsense and fury,
Joy draws straws.
Daises ring ring ring the
Stretching bells of our assumptions,
Like death and the color of sails.
