subtract from

the garish bones of

guilt     opaque in

sand     when sink into sand     shaded

on shards     when

voices piled in

the sky     nobody at

fault that the seams come

loose     they were a product

of insufficient time     the

betrayal of sugary-logic     as

felt between breaths     as

taken by tender

gloved hands     to

sing madrigals in black

dresses     to climb

and rest

in limbo’s lap

speak god not in words

and not god.

walk the two of us across a baker’s field,

into the nation of ghosts.

they simmer to

our inner. their conversation

of moonlit

phrases.

leave behind. go where go

can’t matter. leave behind, despite

laughter. how us falling

into a trance and fall

wayward. here, the entirety

of cold tumble.

staggered.

while smiling at sad lakes and visions

from the past. a house of bright

windows. a library

humming with fluorescent light.

a day of kitchen weather. a

roadmap of wrinkles.

What you and always. What I, by

remembrance. In sight of

stillwater. Like wrapped in furs overtight,

the carry of past saga while lying

bareback on stones rolled glassy by

sleepless surf. As run with legless drift

through and through. Deposit leftover

energy. A gift of maybe no before

reach past the inner to what, reach

for the lake. As swimming

to a waiting breast. In shush

and suckle and leave behind

a skein of evaporating wakes.

From the beginning of existence,

the very end.

that’s gravity, like mountains

in the mouth.

fill me with everything under the sun.

socks. canned meat.

the family dog. too much, although

the temptation to explore a little deeper.

into secrets learned very early on.

how it should be. stay until

the locks all open.

we’ve seen it written in the stars.

you come tearing down the stairs,

hands wild and grasping.

the years have gone to salt,

begging for gifts that never arrive.

they wouldn’t

be gifts, anyway.

you break bread with

smoke. bring it no longer

to the middle or off to one side.

these, our broken fingers. or

thoughts in tangle

and we rest against tombstones.

drunk on someone’s hallucination,

in love

with lunging knives.

lounge amid pillbugs.

unbathed.

given over to earth.

then avoid moon-washed cities      because

lost souls reach

out for abandoned bodies     never

too soon     now in the

evening when

we inhale boomerang waters     endless by

blackened woods     review or regret     what

if glue the forbidden parts

of life back into

place     or color them     or red     or hesitantly

touch meek regions     not

out of

embarrassment     when unavoidable

information     the forfeited

moments

As fainting

into stoveflame.

Brokenhearted.

Take a forceful breath at

the window. Our faces

frame

the glass. And falling, falling.

Mouth sounds

steeped in milky

thoughts. Downward

with the purpose

of terminal

velocity. Find us a cliff

where storms lose

their way.

Feet splayed

at the

utter edge.

But today. But far from home. Where

vivid green, the sky hung in shreds.

Here the people I knew as friends, they

hide their eyes, tell me to fall into

the river and return to early nature as

an incautious spirit. My haunted

visions of flight wash away to mother’s

sea. Does God want me to put on my wedding

suit? Eat every bite of cake down to the

ivory plate? But not cake and not a wedding.

A cemetery fills my hand. I’ve gone

back in time to the birth of the world

and a tendon morning and promises

lost in midday circles. To drag my heels

along the circus boulevard. Curve

down into valley’s shade. Removed

from you and everyone else.

And or.

Our favorite

brothers? Tell and

telling, carry

minutes up and over.

Run past the

bishop’s hill. Trace the air, blinded by

photons. Or remember

butterflies in a box, but

the box isn’t real,

so.

So stand to tell

the day go to hell.

Gather under

the pews while clocks lose track of time. How the day

owes us nothing but

vacated promises. So the

accident of breath

at the back of the

throat. So the need to have wings instead

of arms, an ageless fiction

inspired by hospital dreams

when the moon

goes down.

tumble into

you, hold my

hand, a sampled

time in simplistic

array, gone

to earth and a curl

of smoke.

when no meals

are left,

they’ve been

eaten with bent

spoons. and

our tightened

soulstrings hung

from a branch,

there for the

pleasure of extinct

insects. a mass,

a mess giving

shoulder taps

to the dusk. and

touch our eyes

when a truck goes by,

touch them closed

before the shudder moon

can vanish

into cloistered

heavens. before us,

in the before. summer

orphans, blind-curtained

by an incomplete

season. betrayed by the

architecture of wasps.

in a madman rush we

wish for clarification,

for manifestation of

torrent breath.

a call for destiny.

or jumbled

words that fall asleep

in the kitchen

drawer. where we’ll

still be at dawn,

counting hurricanes

and affecting

blueberry lips.

in days gone missing,

in and out of reason.

hour and hour,

scratching ephro’s palm

for luck. and hiding

secret diaries

behind the blistered sun.

shaken from one

another, borrowed

and borrowing.

We wear a wringing

gravity.

Our breath filled with pebbles.

Darkness, a weighted calm,

the lion’s whisper

that morning has lost its way.

Next hour and hour.

Mark us the way to infinity’s

settling mood.

In the end, all is never

all or at peace with

the beggar’s tent.

Are those nerveless

fingers

pulling at the storm?

Or impossible interjections

of doubtful purpose?

Or lost in sight of the

sentence’s end?