From
an end is the
towards to
The snakes refuse to convulse the dust
will not oh how
laughing into their mouths they see you
they see you
they see you they see you: you don’t
know yet all the
things they see when they look at you.
All your treasures the
snowy field. Facing chairs in your
tomb. Who gets to have one
of those, instead of a mailbox where
nobody delivers any mail?
Materials or a refusal to stay or save
you, the routine of
saving you from telling your story to
who listens to you.
Or lesser transparencies when you’re
haunting you call it
so into being, eight kinds of cherries
on your slot machine.
*
Meadow lushness don’t have enough time
to. Don’t
envy in your. Over and over. Pragmatic
not counterfeit
but so vicarious not in pieces then but
radiant, light
wasting they say light is never wasted
but you can’t
save it you have to give it away, you
should be like that,
be a person like that, a shining
person.
If there are secrets they renew and
become mysterious
again, or once more the clouds rain out
and the hand is
part of this; there’s light on it so
you can see it working.
When you say the same thing again you
never repeat.
*
Light in your face time is no more,
only the skipping
moments, a little aware of when reaching do all the work.
Then not skipping, budding. A chunk of
redwood in the
laundry room before it becomes a table
the milk pours out upon. Say to you,
wish to say to you,
kicked a rally on blow your darkness
down 1234 blurs
the more become sequential. Greater
lesser transparencies
who is obsessed with time these days
there’s so much to
worry about all that there your
brightness overloaded
blur it all, just blur it
all, blur everything.