Alarm the ducts as a way to reverse their collapse
unchannel the television’s swollen glare
whose image visits my sleeve
caring for the query. Even when no one wants it,
the movement throbs openly
across the interim’s crystalline lip.
And where crystalline is manually crushed
the adjusted rate may turn on you,
its interest crippling all accounts and mortgages.
And soon there will be a wound
to track, to provide unusual traction
where scars are used. For payment,
our pain is turned into lantern
or a lane to use when there is too much traffic
across our heart’s tired tracks and hoping
for the most cinematic poem ever.
Obsessively cursing all lit candles
of your exponential birth
a hand which was left and not only history
but a big beautiful baby with no name.
All white/all in white
we proceed from habeas corpus, disambiguated
tumbling caps over our clits. Filling an ocean with unforeseen
forest made from hands and three dull knives
gnawing endlessly at the thick-rooted dawn.
O ode to necrophilia:
Ode to all of the dead gnats in the soil of my lawn:
Ode to the anxiety bugs:
If the world will no longer stand by
me, then I will choose: To stand by withholding nothing
but the road winding along the mountains…
that alone is mine and mine alone at last.
Making now visible charts, stealth again,
the stars stay lit beneath your eyelids even
as the morning drifts (a telekinetic wave, a long wonder and a rhyme)
remembers the reason for moving forward:
left a long wet note pinned to the loblolly pines of Alabama.
Lay me down amidst these trees agawp.
Don’t say “warbler” when no one’s listening.
Because you never know who or what has ears here,
become the gentile sentiment
in and out, then thorough and through.
If it’s both gentle and beautiful, then ok, then
I can listen and not become angry. Can the main tenet be that I want to be
able to listen and not have to be anything else after that?
With each letter representing a magnificent force
of sex and possession exerted onto the world.