Sunset, here.

Sorrel grows along the shed line--

When the fence fell a ghost grew too.

And lemons, rising on sisterly limbs, climb.

Disorder.

The body is reckless as a fur coat
--and yet it wears one!

The body is snide as it apologizes for a
Blood transaction made

On the common side.

The body flips hides
And it derides the nails that bite into the bidden
Skin,

What a world lives between yes and oh alright...

Seating.

Spite made you request me and

Spite,
Let's face it, put you next to me.

In her hair.

Whole lives do not end in the middle, nor
Do they abruptly begin there.

Look at the simple one in her hair

Where waving fibers have one after another
Slipped out of the cord, away.

Burrs dig their teeth in, matted eyes prey,

Fraying the braided ends, with a messiness on
The lips that among half lives is coarse and sublime--

Is sublime.

Ingres.

There are certain paintings by the artist, Ingres, at which we must not be allowed to look. Draft and pass a law. We have in the course of the wannest propriety been incentivized: Dear girl you are pure violet sugar.

And and.

Clumsy as it is
We find the greatest grace
In error.

Whole pages have been ripped free,
And the remains give up

Typos.


See here, the conjunction

And its duplicate.

"The walk stood green against the gloss leaf-filtered light and and"

Movie-going.

It must be said between rented breaths:

Everything must hide in the observant soul

And fight in the frigid dark.

Order.

Without the merest of sophistication
The feral

Grasp our civility,

Its hostile interior.

The detail.

Let us not forget this
Symphony of thorns,

Nor this gust from our
Brethren.

Against all worldly hope we must with
Umbrellas no better than moths' wings

Progress.

The mysteries.

Who threw pennies from our car
To the distant creek below?

It might've been me so
Don't despair.

The dryness afterward in which we, partly
Nude,

Discover ourselves
Is itself an investigation.

Sic transit gloria mundi.

For Mark

What amount remains and what--
Did you count,
Was taken?

If everything aching stirs at once the days
And ultimate months
Will fortify

The land past this sentence with
Footprints

We imparted as we, wed to our wisdom or
fated schedule, left.

My love.

The bloom owes bluevein fungus and
An explanation
To you.

And the bloom fruits blued
In wicked spits
Upon the tomb and wadded

Word
For you.

The oboes of the lake.

First take into account
The oboes of the lake glistening,

It is as though, newcomer,
Looking was--momentous as it is, listening.

Remains.

Bold spokes once knew and colored the shoulders of
Humankind.

That is how we'll be discovered--

Not with dried bones or pyramid
Tombs. No,

Each symphonic reach will
Alight and teach

Those heavyclad kin of those
overly practical abodes

About the rewards lying in shadows, and
Journeys acted out amid
The peal of the sun.

The blues.

Where do you live
Under your guise of skin?

Where when the nightly patrol holds intruders and
Noise away

Does your residence leave light and stay?

And of that lantern
Kept on for the night,

Is guidance as susceptible--
Gargoyline and vigilant,

As the effect of the sad song,
The blue strafe of your binge?

The garden.

We achieve the hill of
The garden in tipping thrusts and

Adventures,

Invested with the neutralest of time, and an
Understanding--

Whichever its bent,

That we define ourselves between cobblings of
Awe

And excuses.

Exhilaration.

Bide in my haggardest
Direction

As I have found sophistication
In everything from the crumbly wall
To your base
Momentum.

Lying awake.

How much milk must
Have made its way past


And how much of
The aroma.

I was asleep when the religious
Gave of their tenderest
Nerves and diffidences.

I anticipated the
Casualties and melodies shared
Between stars

And shy of bending I made all the appropriate

Jokes.

Primitive.

The Earth is now awake and resolute
In the possibility of errors.

Just look:

The poet cleaves in the hide of his own words
With mislaid commas
And periods.

It is an imitation of the natural order--
Now awake,

Of the muddy pass he passed
Rich in chipped shale and schist
And hardened carcasses preserved prone

And adrift,

Of lost hours and memories of sunburnt classrooms
Owing more to the glow
Than to
The onus of the intellect as it grows.

Be satisfied if adrift:

Move now barefooted through the Earth,
Embedded as a comma yourself,

And enliven the blood in your dizzy veins.

Red lines.

Make way for the future.

In the places where ponds were

Sit fables.

Secrecies.

Beyond the hill in a recess between lawns
See some of what has been abandoned.

The dull stalks surrounding it can no longer
Preserve such listless secrecies.

The wind is beginning to move
Through conversations.

Beyond this marble--pristine
Or in ruin,

Invents love from dust.

See how beyond this it pokes free with olives
And the surest temperature.

Real love.

Who knew the mistreated were all
Acquainted?

Mostly because who knew the clever hiding places
Of bruises
And bruisers' clever excuses?

If it is a language then share it,
And if it is not then

Bodies,

Dispose of it!