into hours talking with itself -
a Texas drawl,
Wild Turkeys
twisting away
the orange rind.
Always the last to leaf
(in) leave taking.
Damp silence
mudding clarity.
You bring your sweat to the job,
the art of hanging sheets
between gravity and the weave of clouds
chasing the drift
It happened because we left the window open.
I slept with a woman
who synchronized clocks
with the tiniest whims
of reciprocity.
Rhythm guides the body’s placement,
Image moves it on.
Vocabularies
break down their construction,
nouns become verbs,
resurrected.
Samuel Johnson’s dictionary
had rocks to roll.
Or a measure of music was heard
within one discordant vowel.
*
Two centuries ago,
Fiction couldn’t survive secrecy.
A chair was thrown across the room.
A carriage pulled away from the house
and into fog.
Rhetoric climbed atop grammar.
Look at what you have to say at dawn,
ticketing a stop sign
your tongue consumed
in a slow poke’s
Speakeasy.
*
The hand moves to cover
inaccuracies
My face, wincing
I trample the way
Soft, vulnerable growth
In the moisture
Teeth cut short
And lips
- Babble on
*
Noon sun honeymoon
Passing through the cerebral
exactment
where sweethearts flourish
