i.
Give me an address
married in the snow.
Bell-tram incantations
on the riverboat mind,
a song for boatpeople,
a double sonnet for love,
holding aprons you will not look bad.
People know Sunday. Did I say I hear a symphony.
I honey to blouses, won't catch a lion bird
in den grown legs. Like a man I'm thinking
like two movies at the same time, both classics
in the American sense of the word. American
I am an animal, saw the sea and five seals surfacing
because it was today, cloud dementum, daylight
caulking from no place audible, and the garages
I've parked in fields, errand dream: I have a windy
sister, a colliding mastery, this is my first in a series on
longing. I will be here 'til next Tuesday / will answer
questions during the break.
It was nothing if we were not ourselves
when life was a study of mantels behind
ears. A tender part of any story is a man in his
backyard in the world after the fires. Like a meadow
I am a little like a flower with a bothered throat, singing
impressions of tomorrow today under the influence of nothing and
Baudry, a trunk under new castles, catastrophe in the arbor,
van's persimmon. Turn your face from the country,
good posture in the mountain. Audrey a liar singing
the terror of love between two people is a film I've seen before.
A day unto itself a clean matter, allotment of ether.
See my brothers making noise in their houses.
Taking things out of context to form a party the dog dishwasher
who makes a Gypsy's day brighter than the sun avenge me death
death, an opera who makes it there are two sides to any story
pity misplaced I will save you or die yours is a bag of opera
Unmistaken star bring us back a bevy of things from the shore.
Poland for instance. Our collar bone, your California rights,
two fattish men and a question.
See the blur chart: in a pod of seals I rolled the séance down the hill,
said wind, open, run along to the store. Adequate sundries for
albatross & air, parsnip: say I am the door, say not my body to the not future.
ii.
Whether the earth
Or the machines
I was the earth was
My wordless narrative
The infinite song
As much about
American buildings
As anything. Loadstars?
I hate the little stickers
That they put on all the
Fruit, let me say it another
Way, ruin the corporeal
Undoing of certainty. No,
Someone loves me, Boris Yeltsin.
Did anyone ever want
To be an island with him?
I'm looking for my artificial tears.
Arrivals from the country
There is more rock below
Heroes are hard to find.
iii.
What important was
when I landed the field
someone comes to the door
from Texas. No, let me
come to you, he left a print on me.
It's not that TV is going away,
it's that we think of it differently
The salt roof, September
nurse, she said ready
and I did the baby out.
Unlikely we gave it linens
Fancy be clovered beds
capsizing knapsack days, I do,
how I hope you are pulled over
between the sitcom and the moon.
If I see a smaller cart I will take it
Romantic concerns
things to do with breasts:
open a marble factory in the woods
take a friend out for dinner
introduce yourself to a neighbor
buy milk, asparagus, change the oil
consider the lepers again
A woman with Cheetos on a busy street wipes her hands on her office dress party, whichever month you're reading this Christmas is coming
iv.
My king answers bull sand
potato hands he drives to the water
a sadder display of narrator washing
gold stars eyeing the ether at night.
It was the desert that did it for me, a sea of tumbled
dishes parading in the sun. Now that I'm not sure
is it all right if I stand here and listen to nobody?
Goodnight nobody, a bridge joking with rain.
Wish that you were less of anyone's conflagration
and more of a sweet treat falling from some
corner of Texas. You never really had a beard.
Ordinary with money and whatever
we buy with it. We used to buy rackets.
Phones are back TV is dead so what
if I want to be in bed. He was like
instruments. If I stood straight I could
see him looking toward where
I was or wasn't depending.
Everything comes from the finishing moon
considering white, running the homesteads back
that is the country at night. In the middle of doorknob families
I am I am I am I am and I don't even know what comfort is.
If I fall down in the middle of the woods
it will not be with a candelabra.
