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>He got hit, helmet to his blindsideAnd crumbled for some other purposeWeek-old Italian bread crushed over fresh greens His mind, momentarily jellied, babied, pureeProjects a shushing squirt of hot butter, candiedProphesying and rhythmic luster lock Look up, from the pain and clapped passionsLickable bright, Airbus A380 streaming through the skyCotton and confetti now, a graffiti of…

>I am sure I will die young     hammerbang          hammerbash               hammCrackWhat cruel carpenter makes love only near the reclinedAnd I know, George Plimpton was never kidnappedIn the packed back seat of a Bentley carThought having read his obituary I preferPhilip and his pounding contrast, its striation…

>How that lip gloss returnedyour step-down’s thick honeyed haze& i enter, cut-uppictures in hand-built frames, hand-me-downtable & a glass bowl for keys: It was hereyou mentioned the needlestuck in yr best friend’s armhis sad soundtrack personanon grata; up at the podiumin yr house slippers, nudean audience adorned: At the stolen breakfast booth inyr railroad kitchenette, baptized&…

>let us remember your brightnessthe church all linked and singinghow you wanted to be rememberedas a woman, let us angel-paint youdead now, only 38 days old, stillvenomless viper, nothing left expectedalways the strike, the thoughtful coilbefore you bit the choir’s heart.

>but at first onlythe veins in my armswere that color the bloated purple-greenof hard work, strained throughsuch a perfunctory grate now the cloudlesssky repulses an oilymesh, not for the eye not for the heart, eitherbut beating and crackedan insidious rewind of prone and gagging mixthe owled mountaintopand her shaking skin. can not, will not, must…

>keep in mindthe bed’s soft billowits thoughtful handsomeneed. why wouldn’t itsdesirous fit surprise supple dreams wide never wanestuffed gagfull with dead featherspoking jolting inconvenient jeeringkingdoms tatter torn by a ghostno surprise this other latenight life. destroyed at the beck of white noisekeep to your wheat-soft side.

>54 / 119 / 131 / 147 / 2:05.5

>here, black streets constructed on white thighsboth hands eclipse a slim aperture, jubilation thenwith the knowing, noshake nor shorea push, profiting.

>The primary concern is tone, the shallow vanityOf art’s trenches, (The financially successful artist can go on forever:“Wall, whisper, meat, a murdered motherMany moths trapped in dual headlightsA single loose tooth, ‘How ugly!’” Watt’s white linen piled in context, aOne-deeper layer of nudity (unresponsiveBasement). Returning to tone: I am temptedTo say, “Perfect!” standing deeply in the mouth’s…

> a cobbled pack of birds  no flutter, nor flap, but vibrating mastering the clouds with such fidelity then abandoning the tapes, driving on what could they caw, this cawing crewthat would address sincerely your soulmetastasizing warmth despite the tapioca snowslippery slush sours Freyja’s fair footfall cooking down the stairs, garlic hisses in almond oilby sexual addition…