These are merely instances.* Wallace Stevens

Pick random points and place together. Pattern.
This map expands beyond its margins.
Vines of hysteria cover all. Swallowing.
The shell shock of the normal. Mind shrapnel.
Clocks kept in closet. Time out of mind.
Learning the algebra of flesh balances all.
These words torn from silence. Moral surgery.
Endless intimate details bore to the bone.
Pointless nostalgia for the forgotten.
Science of the lambs. Send up a woman.
The futile sexuality of questions. Will she?
Conjunction junction has lost its function.
You are the poet. What did you make of this?
Roll the dice twice. Call that meaning.
What a long strange text it has been.

  ~mce