Cover
Contents
Lifestones
We have forgot our gods
Bach could hear the crickets
Do we pulse so strange
It occurred to me
I am unlike nothing
Somewhere beneath this dirt
And we ought to consider
The earth, the mountains move
What else?
What words there are
But all in all
What if what is to be has passed
I am not a plotter of would’ves
Where are the dead
The moth floundered
The ruined wall
Local Transits
Self Portrait
I am not sure if I am no one
Having thumbs
Because everything
I have sat upon café walls
And what more can I give
What a lush world
Having shut the door on my extended facts
I’ve hollowed out these lines
And with these tools
It is so. The devil . . .
I have kept, today, to myself
I know my death
Let’s not bake bricks
I would rather somewhere I never
I am dark for —
Even though I have done my best
Atolls
This morning in my posture’s stick
Ode to Ghosts (7th cranial muscle)
Icebergs
I don’t understand how the father
You might think it were made by the blackbirds
Fragment (1 - 3)
Fragment (4)
On a photograph of yr face
I scoff and offend
The quick orchids my hopes is
Local Transits II
Not the falling stars of headlights
Easy to forget
All these ordeals of hips
Once my lover’d angel-tipped
And what of it
Not marble nor stained glass
They are just phantoms
The night may change us