I fit into you like a peg into a hole a tent peg a donut hole

They I did not dare For fear To take the name of And The A Prison We come to look For the It deal us — stated as Our The Posture That To Our Endeavor — Not The Cheek of Liberty — For something passiver —

Old Ts’ang K’o invented writing for us to know   • • •   The room we are in is not the same room for each of us      here   • • •   But I wonder how alive words can be – mauled so for lies, commerce, trophy

We say get back in touch. Or stay in touch. You know how easy, even touching it is to say. As if the words confirmed, made certain, almost a believer of us. As if it were possible. And aren’t we touched? Knowing as we must the divide between us. The unbearable distance we close upon, […]

I. Over Illinois’ midriff Canada geese in two magnetic lines draw together like teeth in a zipper.                                                              II. This red-tailed hawk slowly circling while her eyes swivel in panoramic blinks is evolution’s infant synchronicity confuses into a similitude with two hundred sandhill cranes arrowing slowly southward to winter grounds, riding along a mile high […]

A porous membrane, swelling around to welcome the intrusive object and sketch in chalk basics of the mechanisms of healing;             pursues a love affair with the dressing,             grasps and clings, osmotic freeway swell salving dirt into the weeping wound’s lens;             the species fumbles midway through             a bad luck run no longer […]

observant of landscape and entitled                                                                                     to alter it educated guess what’s buried in the trenches I’ll mandate its rise natural as everything I                                                                   associate myself with slow momentum                                                                  desert weather deck and bulk merchandise adapt my speech to the ration of words per day                                                                   wardrobe of […]

Gone a long time You among many You among the leaves In the north in the west Exiled in the south Exiled in the east There shall the crow fly Seeking his rest   *             *             *   Up the stone steps To the fallen tree Around the locked house Never let me […]

Wind’s form fleshed in this web’s gesture                                outside the closed window.                                 *                                 Dangled above the traffic’s rasp: a contrail a crow a nail gun’s echo.                                 *                                 Light a spider scales one branch to the next       tilts in time with the wind.       Wind revising shadow stretched on a flat patch of tan […]