The painting visible and
laughter: no day for any
teeth undone, I drenched the
mouse in beer. Like a wall
sounded company and all
winter was like Providence,
opening: the rules were changing
and I was the new garb. Do not
mistake me, I‘m moving again
and the decibels owe you nothing.
Whomever it is at the door
have them come back, I am
in the middle, like growing
my hair, breaking the window
into tougher abstractions; these
sounds are not naught they are
sounds, and the listening bothers
men, a hall lectured itself into
a corner, won in spite of itself
and called back the following
day, a do-over. Whatever fancy
planet you come from, you’re a
long way from listening, the
corner store of a body like
steps to sit down on, a cupola
waiting to go to sleep as green
was the night, no, yellow, and
all that listening: red. Red felled the
sounds, the state becoming you.