This forward thing
These steps
taken
to

nows
bleeding
forward an edge
thens crowd behind

i am limbed out here
crossing this sun
an' that moon
in this that
then

open
star craft
sailing from
who knows when
to not even there yet

again not again more
and even never
leaving out
anything
ever

more
happens
and is in store
to be bought by hours
absconding with everything

that's when you think a day
has marched through
my clean kitchen
and you clean
and pour

yourself
out on the bed
like time's wash water
congealed into a memory
of muscle and meat and love

i rented these words
you may
have to read them quickly
before they are
returned

That void awaits
a warm welcome
for each syllable
back from service
into some warmth
as reward

for years
in our mouths
wet and angry
or loving
or scratched out
on pages or
hammered

into some mind
****** meanings
screampt again
and uselessly again
at the night
at the light
at the moon

let the poor
******* go
i wouldn't
pass through
here as they've
chosen
through spit
and ****

yet here
they are
gifts and pleasures
sweetness and light
tongue tripping
delights arrayed
for our pleasure

let me dance
this way and that
reach up
thumb the tip of my hat
to you

You know I have lasers
for eyes
and I can see inside

Am I getting to the point
of sickness
what is this ride

it brings it all back
this wavelength
this deride

this is the end
of a thread
and you
are the eye
of a needle

this here is
the temperature
at which i melt
into rivulets
of snow

Just a second
I tried to get
away
there
no one knows
when we leave
our now
as if

could I
not talk
to your
puppet
mine is
out of sorts
so it's me
spinning
the dials

I want a
haberdashery
to appear
to keep mine
well dressed
while i try
to change
everything
routinely

and that
easily
I am
away
writing
would be
clever shims
to keep
the spacing

I have
a video
of a filmstrip
of some
pictures
taken
out of focus
and it's clear
right

I'm not
armed
or adequately
checked
for being
a nuisance
and so remain
hopeful
of getting
back to you
now

I have questions
about poetry
and whether
it causes
loneliness
or not

Every line wavers
shadow shuttering
the shade envelope
on off on off on off
something signaled
and forgotten and
pumped out heaps
of it and grounding
and searing magma
tunneling undersea
crusting into more
or less cooly nothing
still faintly hoping