Friday, May 9, 2014


the wind lit où j’ai dor
mi sti’s streaming eyes
jut above the wind’s
lip dorm ido was the
ants quiet in my thighs
tomorrow morning lit with
sleep the book writhes
beneath your bed still las
t y ear the book seeps
will turned was inside
out où je l’ai entrouvri
où le vent dormant...ño...


said and sweat corn re
duction sticky what will
said the corn growing
in your sweat the cr
awled sky infibulation
in the waiting room’s
sticky floor tomorrow
Thursday will be Mon
day sweat against
the glass door brea
kage said the wai
ting was the stones
heaved against the
sky the doors will be

in stitution

wet the shape of hum
your glove lost the
bus shaped glove with
dust release wet
filled ignition will the
fare exhaust ed stop
and stops will stopped
across the humming gro
cery where she stands
was taking notes her
glove the phone light’s
craving is the wind
crackles in the desert
ed factory bus will
pass the sweating hills
remembered were the
shapes dust will come

the fingers ,smell



no cue no stun no
flopper on the bed no
yes it’s not no dish
floating in the tub no
no no brick turning
in the gutter no no
chatter in the kitch
en when no the oil
will spilled no flo
or spattered on the
suit no lift condition
squalling toward the
basement st



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