wet moon-paint drying on

walls that feel against one another

to find their way into emptying

out rooms--whose ceilings are glassy

veils pieced apart corner to corner.

dangling spiders like discarded trinkets.

cut from the womb of webs sworn to

secrecy--never to betray the whereabouts

of night.

with the same lips that soundlessly mouth

how they fell for her.

as horizontal lines are lowered

to disappearance across shores.

similarly an inbuilt distance of

return keeps ones guiding star

in its over-world chamber.

regenerating something more

complete than memory--which

is what life recalls.

death the twinkle in its eye--being

overcome by the throbs of its colorful

attractions.

there's only incomprehension--

as even a Word given

reads like alphabetical order.

to watch its letters burnt

down for poetry.

end to end, as words having

received Word--leap from

the windows of a blue castle.

which mean as they fall for.

fiery encirclets--

ground's birthmark

of night.

ash the skin of

smoke.

long since slithered

upward into

its unseeable

hole.

a purple apple tree abides

on a zephyrous hill.

wearing undone blindfolds

on its branches.

blown naked in the trust of

her figure eights, when they

came of her eyes.

as a pair of hands exchanging

crowns, to marry a Self-contained

undulation.

whose flux will never fade, with

the shock of imagining whose light

has suddenly been thrown on.

it's June###

(if you lie awake,

trying to pronounce June,

in NYC).

****-whacked by flies.

a handball court taking

pains to paint both wall to ball--

black and white.

halved in cold heat on impact.

with a glop of grey.

sparing players with a stroke.

as the backs of blue buses melt

and bumble, into a wealth of streets.

sanitation blowing those types of kisses.

with wheels going round and round,

de-ranged with reup and rot.