Where men are gay for their beers,
and never integrated with the world’s clock.

Where men **** away their fears
on a wall only as big as the spot
they need.

All these fields
and the health they yield
all mushy and dead
from the crops
that would from the veins of grain, rot.

wrestle with the puzzle
with only your finger
or maybe a single straw cold glance

Maybe a bed of saw dust
would fix the pain in your Head.

No feather pillows
to comfort and cradle the mind.
to address the metal wounds
poverty to shelter me
and never too soon
if the distance of this curl in the sheet
might seem as distant
as this scene
as the movie passes it plays in
double, half, real time

As the flat valley
where a palm tree grows
in a puddle in my palm.

Mended the electric circuit
of the frequency of your body and memory

Finally slicing that grain of rice.

for the parted message like a divided sea,
fragmented slowly, evaporated

stuck in this resistor.

that makes it so tedious the final drop of condensation
finally becomes
a summer ants
last
breath
on a cold winters day or perhaps it was so little
like the smallest petal
falling down
as the pedal of a bike
cycling
up and down
through the largest
park
or maybe a roses thorn lifting the dirt up
ever so much
that a bit of dirt
amongst the frost
would rise up
the loudest sounds
as the heaviest dirt filled cloud
one this frozen water
could no longer hurt.