when do things
when do things decry their frail in-
amnesty, and do we pry out of our own
voicebox the new waitlist
for movie props, the jetstream
lengthening the trip, the blips
gone by, the ostracized new kit
abundantly endowed with loping
indigence the way that mother used to
matternhorn, and do we also need
our frere jacques to have sung to us
while laundry coats the threshold
rain almost upon us now and
blousy trains of thought inebriated
with their own sootheworthy unction
**********************************************
The Very Thought of Relaxation
One of the shifts in mood felt slim beside the solace of a river-drawn
expanse of wood approaching winter. On the page her ink became objective.
Hypothetical endowments strained what had been nicknamed marriage.
Appearances slipped between parentheses. The very thought of relaxation
crooned a foreign hymn. Peace pronounced was left unlatched. Mere water falls
into its raw state. A good chai tea is difficult, he warned before my nap. I
would listen at his shoulder in the hope of lifting pain for which a new
sedan would be acceptable, perhaps in modest pink or echo of a mist.
Dropcloth, haze, some calf-length swatches carried into other lives
**********************************************
Consecutive Integrities
Pulse meant to be measured first was felt, according to the custom. Mastering
intention cordially enough to have consecutive integrities. Smell virtue ache
to find forgiving surfaces. The ramp ran dry of candid snaps. Those catch-all
phrases did not capture any spirit of release. Practice returned the favor to
an unnamed cause. The self held tirades in a tincture soon indelibly
enormous. Fractures held their light beams inside memory. Unless one backs
away, various outcomes will relay requisite styles of walking toward a room.
Maybe once out of the circled way a pliant cause feels coarse. A person might
repair to an identified environment washed down after.
Buckets of chalk, a hose to rinse away design
**********************************************
The Faces Simply
Is a man's shirt small enough for her to wear home to the inner party. Few
are poised. To afford the after cure, the slow epitome arises from a cause
like bread. A picture executes only a fraction of the tale. Mass uncritical.
The faces simply watching something pass. A head taller than each person who
is blond or scenic merely. Pace the room within the wood within the mind a
mood. So many vibrant thoroughbreds among us lodged in time. As patience
lurks enough of us leave paths unoccupied. The litany leaves blessings half
behind. Circuit board imagining a brain as altogether tubular.
Against my better judgment, sleeping in the arms of sleeping in the arms
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