Where are the dandelions
On the edge of summer’s breath?
The stars are volume and sound
And depending on mass
May end up as holes
In the ground of the universe.
Where are you exiled?
The weight of distance
Is the circle’s geometry.
I published a field study
On the aerodynamics
Of solitude.
And found that it could swim.
The geometry
Of calling off
From work:
Proletarian pillowcases,
The waistline of angels,
The two unequal sides
Of the human heart.
The geometry
Of staying home
From home:
The summer night is bigger than you
If done properly,
Eyes dream in graffiti moons,
Heart breathes griffin stars.
The flowers
On Mars
Are heart shaped applause, wolves of
Silence, bankrupt fractals
On their past poems,
Asteroid belts, summer nights, lava, rocks, stones, leaves, solitary. They ask,
What are the numbers in the fourth dimension? What are the quadrants of solitary meanderings?
This dawn of the stones.
I walk alone.
Once a year
All around the moon
Liars set up tents
To tell the truth
If it had no earlobes, I
Would still hang earrings
From this impossible
Plight, in blatant
Obvious ways resound
With duplicity, fulfill the
Bureaucratic wishes of
Stars.
I would pick up the footprints of
Square white daffodils,
Call out to ships in an upside down harbor
As the sun rises into the sea
The job of a fool
Is to ride the bus
Till the heart becomes a circumference
Suffices the world
The job of the poet
Is to put earnings
In burning buildings
Look look a macho moon in reverse
Parks in the eyes of city gulls
Go ahead and honk for doomsday
I’ve the summer grass
Tattooed on the shoe strings of my brain
Between the toes of my heart
The world is a shell. But now what?
The sun is a quintet. But the drummer was robbed.
You are invisible and move like the moon. On three legs of falling leaves.
.
This is the way to lose.
By the seams of our nativities.
