bent by light--

the curve,

a patient etherized

upon a table.

doubtless Thomas, do you

prefer hello or goodbye?

at once the examined

and unexamined life.

stiff and lithe with

preoccupation--spread thin.

the forensic

line preceded by sentinel: X.

standing in place for the name

deemed by law competent enough

to undergo...

no more raw

than the cloisters

of breath.

a two-way mirror

that enlists a wind

to one end.

A sparrow knits the-
dim moonlight to sleep in
my arms all night.

My devotion was
different. I would watch
the meltdown of moon.

You must move like
water. There was nothing to
say, nothing to catch.

hypnagogic rope,

serpentine

alpha wave.

guardian of

visual metaphors.

sibylline interstices

of grey apples.

alacrity has always eluded
me; always the dumbstruck
drunk stumbling through
the realization that his revelry
is past it's shelf life
and immediately forgetting
what it felt like.

displaced perpetual.

still, i write love songs to
the hum of an empty fridge
for no-one in particular;
call it a romance or
call it pathetic.

i couldn't care if i wanted to.

even the sun becomes a myth
to anyone who stares
at it long enough.

so i'm ok with it.
all of it.

at least, that is what i tell myself
over and over until even
the love songs stop
spilling.

have you ever noticed anything that sent you spinning
off into the empty infinity of blossoming cognizance?

pupils dilate,
sweat beads,
words collapse back into what they imply; we only know
because we watched the footage.

yes, we watched it together
and yes, it is the only father figure that pays for her own dinner these days.

i wish i was worth forgetting in the future.

i wish people didnt feel they had to be anything but here.

i wish people would teach their children about how i could market loose teeth to coastlines.

im laughing at your puzzled aura
from the next epochal shift.

(man enters and exits stage right, nervously)

it's deep is a depth but really nonsense.

besieged by the sky,
my lungs have already burst.
never found the words.


i still drift nowhere,
first to find out I'm alone;
I would hate to hide.


the smell of honey
and lavender paints the walls
of mornings lost to...