the technology is better
is why we have to take this path

to god
is obvious in the kneeling
in the looking up
you have to be willing
all of the words will tumble out of you
onto the gymnasium floor

all of the pennies were lost
across a cement field
all of the senses were brilliant
against the blue vapor called sky
these were just so many sensations
from the magenta lips the release
of shadows upon darker shadows
the window was streaked with minnows
i had no response
except to feel the house was smaller ever smaller
there was a whole stretch of pulses and mounds
a freehold in the forest the fantasy

a sequin to remember
a silent sparkly repair
the knee inside his knees
disguised as a solitary reason
to watch along as you go
maybe it would
or that line had a silent watchband

silence lent itself to long pauses
i’ve returned the radar the redline of hope the washnut
ash on the chest
the treasure wasn’t ready to be uncovered
i wasn’t ready either
only in a kind of time of swamps
a time of mast
i led a tribe across you

everything returns to the soft itch
the way the breath rests on the elastic ribs
you’ll need to keep your hands
your eyes
your circumference
to yourself
how wide the bellows like to open
the edges of the hearth were stuck through with the reflections of the lava
hardened into the glassy round the never

concrete and the head of a young man
your hair is long the neck is tight
a way of giving up a length of life under the calm
under the clear
over the rest of the earth and the paper
fell from the sky
onto the heads of the dogs at the gates
you are going to be the one who lives to eat breakfast again in the country
of your choice
you cannot expect to be able to watch every piece of the paper
and not have a chance to watch the way the paper can make itself
up of the letters
i was made up of letters in the inside of the lungs i was breathing through
my spiritual grandfather beethoven he was the one
that spit it all out in the face of life
i learned to do that kind of thing
not without effort
but still there was something still about the way the wind rested
at dusk
we were also in a kind of trance
like the leaves and the valley and there was a french family
on their way
i believed i was one of the ones to help bump the project
along i filled how many houses with a scent
i was the one with a notebook and the eye was locked
and the breath was inside a kind of clear cage
maybe we were home from the cottage
we walk a little at a time to the edge of the rug
i pretended to love you in reverse
one ridgetop to the other
a sunset a way a mind is rolling to the farmhouse i was inside the shape
of the land minor curves and the cut at the bottom of the hill
we called a stream do we recall the way the fear built a castle
on the edge of the stream the way the rocks looked black through the water
the way the townhouse opened up to the back garden
the way the water came out of the bamboo shoot with a lurch
this was the way land was injected i was inside the letters
but i wasn’t breathing
always not breathing and wanting to not write not breathing
the amount of leather in the chop shop
i’m afraid is the truth of the matter
i’m leaving the whole page behind
i wanted to get up and let the entire episode dissolve behind me
there was a way to categorize the questions and leave the sound to the ends
the ends of the pattern the sons of the parrrot
i was apparent i was not apart much from the tips of my fingers
i wanted to win the easy
i wanted it to win me back
these were the compromises
i wanted to be the one with the cactus in his hand to forget to maintain
on the island in the bus and there was bananas to eat on every street table
i wanted to look at the stars and hove a visit from somewhere holy
these were the sounds
the night wasn’t waiting anyway
an oboe in the center
of the eyeball
a sinister advance the way the surge was something for the yepiece
when will the seldom audience allow me to proceed