Nelly and Paul

A drawing past
this field
to rest, the rest
an incident of falling.

If we are the window
the window is blind
and there are no
yes
words to be
found among these fields.

But to remove
the white side,
these eyes face
one way.

So if we are the window
then the window is blind
and there are
no
answers, we make–

A delicate escape,
blanket reception
a type of drowning
meant to
cast now
in field
design.
To hear you.

If we are the window
the window is blind,
and our rooms breathe
dust
about their singing.

THE SURFACE

suspect rhyme : time language
mime, counter
cluster. “sounds like

people. talking.”

artificial
while, running away.
do you taste strange?

save bellies
their strict rhythm.

what should (write) right now
cloud receipt : a mode of brick

romance. “sounds like

chasing. paper.” raised
toward reenactment.
detailing of spoon flesh. so
wholesome.

yes to marrow and what’s dapper.
mellow, but you’re not¬–

to be plenty. “sounds like

an easier place.”
to jump from.
and of my course,

i cry instead
of catch.

Consider the curious alternative

melting into cost. Of knitting

and resemblance.

The space inside soft

inverted flesh, where lack of

vocabulary and angle context

void restless breath.

Carnivorous reflection whose

parasites recoil

into those who eat

within infinite earshot. Taste

their bathwater, retired

elegance and divine vacuum.

Transform, call out

a canceled person. A slick

reduction¬¬–

illusion (as a means of protest).

Compromise the strands,

contagious roots, atmosphere confetti

and eventuality (as a basic reason).

Fall for realism:

The ability to blend.

RENOVATION

Bach was a stripper.
Wearing only a wig, he wrapped
round organ pipe–

Where Bach caught tension,
Thick in shoulders
Deep in lumbar
…12 Equal Vertebrae

Solemnly
March …back to cold shower pew.

Kiddy cunt for cash; Kissed Bach’s ass,
snatched up notes
with hollow teeth,
bit and pressed

Yes. She reigned.

Pulled herself up onto Bach, into the
heated, un-silent
confessional
closet

and hymned.

CATEGORICAL STABILITY

My letters drain a thoughtful being of composure.
My accounting has self-buried.
My field folded.
My train sweats grey hands out for a penny-wise walk.
My stain of high mid-nights, pleather talk and genius.
My reply ‘drain out stars in our BOX’
My loaded gun wandered Broadway bent to meet her.
My key has been placed gently in drawer.
My hands are giant seconds stretched.
My return promise to relearn the morning.
My grain resists passivity.
My strokes cohere towards vice.
My soldiers break ankles to dispose me.
My punches ink the street.

662 Driggs

there is thick shadow
something about impermanence
(status)
body occupation
brick back and cast iron
hips braced by vast empty
unconscious– trailing rubber smells lying

leaves are drying
again brittle calendars
dissolve into runoff
gravy of the side street
cast of centuries
headshots in shades of
black plague a tangled

address taut cords
connect (belittle)
such fathoms sound
bathing in empty wind
rattle each chatting stone
shorn down
to its thinnest

Schumann Allegro

12. Clara cut.
11.
10. Shallow skin
with Robert’s grip.
9. Stripped lucid notes
from barley hops,
grounded
dainty pitches.

8. Bitch begrudged a daring man
his sizable reaction.
7. Fraction
of a beat
down. 6.
5. She tipped her back.
Topped her off.

Drowned in every
dribble. 4. Drivel
carved by Robert’s rust
and razor.

3. Clara cut
2. Through pale peach, into
1. Pepper flake
in
Liepzig.

In Retrograde

There is awe upon the endless–
Option against point. Pattern.
But I calculate!

Replacement.  Loose skin
Recession    vein procession.

Mold an ache from a fraction.

Infinitely smaller
pieces choose
Homes within strange letters.

Reenactment of bloody
Body grounds.  I am

A grown woman misspelled!
A mistake, taken root

Modern vice,   taste
Miracle Grow.

Captioning:
I revised my penitence.

Withering pollen lips.
Remark on my threadwork!

I hold synapses together– speak
Sensitive, resemble wilting.

Lost and recompiled.  I am
Too pronounced
to be concluded.

Account.  An ending lattice,
I’ve let crisp. List
every fallen
spine, my
Circle-wise tapestry.

Jalopy

toes down
patterned count
leashes
dripped in road. sprinkles
on a hardly life,

cubist keystone
sheets. splint,
which held
(a blinded bed)–
chosen

pillow
calcified,
a counseled abstract
face (a) swallowing
expression.

wrestled onto resigned
white
walls.
shatter
gravestone stairs–

a fragile frame
of tired snow
and a keyhole
color of prayer.