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.
Silence is perpendicular
A hole the size of a
Sequel
With eyes the color of pants
A rolling tap tap tap
Of hard to reach matters
Get a step stool
And don’t forget the diving board
——
There is no radius
No angels in heels
No god of napkins
Just bicycle hearts
Pulling wheelies
Leaving skid marks
I asked the
Bouncing ball
What time
The light bulbs
Go out?
A washtub of ghosts, said the ball
It’s just
A squeeze of light, the darling blink of darkness,
Came the second reply
The sleeping cat is a fat chance
The dollar amount is traffic
The atoms are a taste test
Genes are the mocking call
In cursive, beware
Where are you dandelions
On the edge of summer’s breath
The stars are volume and sound
And depending on mass
May end up as holes
Where are you exiled feet
The weight of distance
Is the circle’s end
I published a field study
On the aerodynamics
Of solitude
And found that it could swim
the poem will look of light and sod the vacuum and praise the love and aloof
a stuttering child on a chalk elephant
the shirt of chance the belly of god
the sound of jars in light
I could put it away or put a table in a puddle
tamper with the lineation go ahead bury it will it grow
I will tell them then again not
Silence is translation
A smirk of distance a fever up the spine from the heels
I close the windows to increase the draft
first
sound out
the words
begin with
g-r-a-v-i-t-y
the tulips of a gas
giant
next
parenthesis
everything
(th(e t)ul(ips) of (a) gas)
g)ia(nt
and mostly
last
the idea of the self
just as meaning
really is less
meaning
a grasshopper
on a
concrete whisper
Baffled like the parchment sun
And if hell is a hula-hoop
This evening has the hips for you
It better this way
A heart of almost
Keeps one steady
Crumpled up like a basement door
The seasons are the friction of motion
And if I had to guess
Life is red lips
The nomination of significance
