ant5

wanting not to kill

the snail who gorges on

my succulents

 

the green apple

on the counter

vibrates

 

in the heat flies

peel away from the shade

on the wall

 

no words come

pulsing in chambers

the meat dance

 

back to No. 2

a scattered symposium

of light

 

sweet gum fruit

heaped in the gutter

will work for food

 

sun bathing next to

the freeway something

bites my leg

 

the shadows of three

geese slide down

the side of the hospital

 

standing on phone

books for the proper angle

a map of the world

 

I am the water in the wave of the air

 

the house darkens into

the rain I hold her

approximation

 

high pitched whine

the smell of damp soil from

the potted ivy