And then
“Soul” can run a plethora
A dog walking
A man
Down a steep, steep hill,
.
As I look
For
Broken glass that isn’t there.
“Car Cadence”
“Epochs”
Maybe a “superego”
Is just a connection to your own face,
How you look away from the city and say,
She doesn’t matter,
That 16 year old girl
In black khakis
Climbing up on the booth and cleaning the table
With her back to you.
“The Park Will Make its Own Diaspora”
It’s all about trying to nullify people’s power,
Like a person,
Like when they come up to you,
What right do they have to do that?
The air is rich here.
“The Green Olive Bridge”
True hedonism will get punished on its own,
With lack of imagination or too much focus,
And I’ve seen the symbols of cognitive elevation,
Reasons you should try,
.
Aromas
And mixtures
Never quite making the same cacophony,
Everything seeming impossible,
Because it is.
“The Union”
The problem with “soul”
Is that it’s the very antithesis of the
Ability to succeed in everyday life —
.
A dissembled person
Looking
At you through the
Seeds of centuries,
.
Much more than
Anyone
Should
Care to take, much
More
Than you could
Stand to grab.
“Opening”
The overwhelming thought of the day,
Any day,
Is,
.
My thoughts dissipate
Out into the sandy knolls
Beside this speeding train.
“A Crowd of Voices”
What came first,
Feeling or tactility —
.
What came first,
The
Cracking of the beer keg
Or the prospective enjoyment of it.
“Alteration through Necessity”
Sometimes I believe in you,
I believe in you to enjoy yourself,
The sh** smell of your baby’s diaper
Lingering from over where you keep her toy,
.
The kiddie pool still out in the
Yard under dirt and snow,
No entropy.
“Balloons and Planets”
I sigh,
And the ellipse spells out insanity,
So I choose where I stack my china plates,
And I deflect off
Moments of the cloak-en,
.
While on them I see deeds that
They try to hide,
The days muting their eyes,
Some like knives to burst balloons.
“A Time for Wings”
There’s a chance that everyone in the world whom you ever meet
Wants you to put on a different impression
From the one you do,
.
If you’ve had a vision of their mortality,
The bath they’ll one day meet with dreaded focus
Their own light clipped by so many, sonorous.