free will

in light of the falling sun cyclical burn the trees breathe easy
the cola end here as vessels;
veins from which sailors fling themselves over
to melt among the froth of nuclear fusion they float on
ready? like sperm, Lemmings
work but it does not feel right watching them fall and sink head to feet and
never once scream the searing into our ears, the selfish actors
we are peering down at them—envious: the ever green.

self-portrait [assessing the subject]

grey hairs draped over the nape
like a waterfall
crashing at the base of the head

who from a great many ages holds erect
beams of wealth in the oral tradition,
pasted cantos,
| wall | to | wall | patterns |
of speech

they must be had
before this man ends—
when conjoined the line of souls discolored
who smoke like sulfur scent skyward

austere from redundance;
the tired shades and seasons

crouching behind him—in the silence

we are conscious of our lungs
we are tickled with fever in the tall grass
for a smooth acre of flesh to place our hand.

sight exercise

infinity:
a line,
progressively longer;
thinner

Vi on the Tower of London

I yelled
I beat her dog

GET DOWN

thrash bled nothing

purple petals
fill the vitae cushion:
even in its better days
a shredded bedding

my arms lost short
on that street
that cradled
a perfect body
perfectly.