Watching Some Thing Careening Toward Somewhere

It is so impossible to fight
when your tips
are so veiled. I want to hi-jack

the process, suck
the stem’s meat,
and leave the husk—
a hurdle.

Yes.

Breathe

Who is Possibility?
Who is Limit? What windows
are made for knocking
with rocks and wishes?

I’m always asking questions.
It’s a rhetorical flourish.
Better left to those with interlocutors
that may search for answers—
that may scrawl answers.

I understand

what you mean. This is our yoga.
It is the reward, the goal,
and we are here to yoke
closer to this Truth.

But then why
are your ambitions?
Why share anything
with anyone?
And why show
the cover of a new book?
And why stitch
manuscript after manuscript after manuscript?

A Point, A Map

What does a lie or liar mean to you?
Show me the contour of the terrain and describe the taste of your staked ownership, with as few rods as possible.
I am interested in pictures of projections of constellations and maps that demonstrate the singular nature of viewing—you know, the fact that a view point is from point and you most move that to take a whole thing in.
I propose Kant and the sound of my voice.

I was in 7th Grade

and you told me that you dreamed of us dying, the ozone layer failing, and all of our lungs struggling. Our faces were blue, eyes popping cherry vessels. You want to poke more holes in our canopy.
This could be a litany or a jeremiad.
But I know that I’m an asshole.
I scream at cars. It is easier. I chase them.
What would you do if you caught one?
I would wrestle the axle to the blacktop, twist the leg of the tire into a bowl, and throw the thing away. I would find my breath and apologize. I would accept my fault in this argument and fold my hands back into the pockets of my khakis.
I would ask for forgiveness for this mess. I would apologize for saying it.

Blushed Pale

The blushing blood rushing to the surface grasps harder when set on gray and green. My darling. How sick. I sold you under-cooked chicken and sugarless gum. I told you it was raw, organic, free, and home on the range. Imagine tufts of feathers playing with deer and cantaloupe. No, leave the feathers out. Imagining this meat with movement and body warmth can churn a city stomach. Don’t worry; it’ll all be up and over soon.