The month is now recast. In honor of ( Read more... )

Wind she meant to say and why

of banana pale beams

blinding and a pear. Stillness flaw

in all directions of the bloody blue sky

The lines of sweets there

wrecked in dissonance tongues

10 wounds, four, fourteen

One and a half for every day after the

First of March.

That winter was the worst in existence. Even the mice hardened. Her ivories were cooked in gaslight anchors, anchovies. The prayer of noon was a gated patience.

In missing tooth-forms
in revolving fires
in innocence
the foxes in innocuous pairs
like celery only cut lower
like paper trains
like air like air.

Let's start with September ( Read more... )

She walks right in and through the candy ( Read more... )

The image courier was a man with intensely long arms. He challenged others with this faithfulness, as long as May chipmunks collected ( Read more... )

If there were ochres of storm ( Read more... )

Themed against dreaming and would be again
machine-like in advance.

Enough explication. And unhappiness. Enough ocean.
The tone you take with yourself, you've lost it. The dark imagery, the faded horn.

Then lay they adherents in so many forms.

In the dark there is a whistle marking your timed sequences
pollen
harvested in summer like a fish
in an arena of mosquito doors

These things just add weights to the world. They're good for that but ( Read more... )