a watchful
avenger, sausage
time, a fanciful
scavenger — sauce in time
sauce is time, a watchful
wet fanciful avengerer
making sausage
time its long arc bows to no
speech fizzles of hysterical towards
just towards defined again (defined in
and as again) refined grain and
grids found again shitting all
over memory
“how can we be useful to each other?”
the tree asks the leaf
and in their ensuing speech an egg
cracks the dawn open its blue fingers run along the seams of the world
“and when,” we ask, in variegated voice, “will we be allowed back
into exile’s bated breath?”
multiplex and broken, we ask
i’m only a leaf on this tree
only a color green, of a leaf
a chlorophyl of a color, green of a leaf
the yet to be grass, the yet
tomorrow to marred, written nevertheless
into the narrow
the sauce is timing the effort
spent trying to alone in
public spaces eye the moment your
stitches burst into loose
burlap and worms and maggots
shape all gone
the phone however abolishes nowhere to a crumbsweep
banged shut
a simple hand reneges
a nowhere elopes
but in this ever evolving fuckdoggery i am
also a scientist of the unconscionable and a
rowboat and a robot and a snoooooze and sun-lifted shame puddle
and i fear i must tell of it thus to you
you who are ever brightly dappled in light sliced
open from sun’s honey, morning dappled and dewy
there, we rind
and you pour a little ocean out of the ocean and
into the ocean for its dead currents
taste of krill
in honor of
o you my miniscule barbecue o mourning !
no mooring
cacao and coffee, sugar and tea
spectacles of name
dismantle hands
dismantle spiderwebs
other paths, could
nevertheless
what selfsame face will be waiting dented to
you come back new forest fresh in the Mars of the soul
working to pay its birth off
day by day year by year month by month
connivance concrete conscience
with cupid and
all their arrows
aligned in the bare riverbed’s soil
as though mathematics were ordered by mines, rare
earth and ancient auto parts dealers down San Pablo
or an Eastern Parkway of the mind if you will
measuring sunlight like a schtick of sullen putty
put to the test in the shape of dinomite or
a dinosaur’s coming back its bone all chewed up
strict leaves of statement burnt into the group
love awakening though, that’s why i’m always going
to sleep
is that a reminder or a memorial?
or is it just a wocket?
and we hear their cries all through our sleep and
our waking either way
from the stranger’s land of our blood
and our words we hear their cries
as though our own words our own ears
how could it be
we hear them not as us