the wherewithal to hide a
sense of wonder
retribution (tributary) this admixture:
colic coriander chelae cubic
for a dollar held in hand you
well you wipe the whole wide wing away
my city, caught under, which
(no, never mind that)
see the cacti lie down like lambs against
the retaining wall, the will
not the one you bought
but willing the sky
its nine times nine making
the neighbors’ voices cut and fade
we allow more words and cursor
this part just added for effect
get a sign left in the street
a book left on a porch step
the rain even more of now
is not the right time
you step aboard, worry that
how your own will away
they have their pockets into my
affairs, sordid (file that under
reaching down or out
labels) some dissection of weft
the part of the poem where the lines get long
as abstract concepts arise (the odor of yeast strong)
children lolling on daybed with books
to how many digits of pi
a modal calculus to gel process
or reassure us systems are go
(don’t kill me for) the darkness, trajectory
this hand beside my face
a cold sense
a dim department store dreamed of
if I am lost then that’s the way it has to be
(scattershot of tiny words, a parabola, a look,
a warning shot across the bought
book falling to the floor page folded its
boat listing
catalogue full of useful items without prices)
(us waiting for the storm to reach out
lightning like distant flash pictures in the cloud cover
never
rote) wait
use this as long as
quarry can keep the pace
up please leave my hand alone
shaky in the morning on the pillow
unable to scribe the finest detail
here, here, natural, held, or a skill long to hold and to
behold