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