SHE ROUSES BRIEFLY AND SAYS DRAGONFLY

on the bus muffled radios telephone poles list in the fog

shadows in the heap of bananas one of us will leave

chance and other extraneous factors the fading curtains stay drawn

from a number of people strands of hair tangled in the lint trap

for just a moment it returns my sense of smell the bewildered elms

the dawn air of spring a ticking from the grasses

the moon almost full above the temple we decide on lamb

like nerves like cholesterol silt filled a bottle floats

with nothing left to say I tell you it’s a nice sweater

light leaves the lamp in long drips something stirs out in the field

beneath your weight on the sticky couch the odor of bleach

bumping the glass a bee tries to get to a green straw

the barren spindly trees where they overlap I’ll meet you there

three voices that sound like five make use of exits and exit wounds

its view obstructed by blossoms the room a little darker

a piece of stone missing from the step gray wind almost warm

tell me what we’ll do on a bench by the river when no one’s around

doused in bright winter sun the empty train car terrifying

after rain the drip of rain a scratch in the bottle catches the light

all I can taste is her prelude to fascism

skin of the oak soft with moss a crow skews his feathers

paint fumes hips off kilter a confusion between petals and leaves

I think they’re having sex but maybe they’re just fighting over food

filling with spiders you shoes darken into the toes

a pile of mailboxes doors off their hinges and one white letter

an approaching shadow not knowing it’s yours

a long row of shopping carts rain collects on their blue handles

the bag of my head pulls at my skull a chill to the humid evening

the stick snaps a slight back and forth motion to the train

dressing afterwards her voice hardens

standing on phone books for a better angle a map of the world

the spider wraps the twig that fell and drops it

leaning into the cement stairs two girls play their flutes

where you shave and where I shave commercial relations break down

more real in the red curve of the wine glass a giant pine cone

new pavement wet with rain a leaf slides here and there

pea on the trajectory of a scratch I will be a Ghost Dance

on the still life of pears the rapid shadows of a ceiling fan

unlocking the door the key she gave back to me

dangling from the budding tree phone lines the moon full enough

dusk eaten at the center a yellow elm leaf

drinking tea I didn’t stop the war I just forgot about it

my body made up of accordions no sun but a little sky

now that we’re separated your ass at the public pool

a moth has flown out of my mouth or so it seems

looped over itself on the wet pavement a useless rubberband

the tree fills with berries a small flaw in the glass

burnt dull light cleans the air of its translucence a june death

where she points at the red flower i don’t see anything

a dream of cats in heat the rain leans one way then the other

last week mushrooms now dandelions

yellowing the mist the last of the elm leaves on the sidewalk

underneath the sign that points to the zoo deselect my autoclave

wings dusting the melon drippings a moth still in the wind

i wait for you to stick you tongue in my mouth an autumn sunburn

the crosswalk whistles skimming the pavement an empty bag

not so much a volume as a pressure feign slight uncertainties

in from the rain i smell like a dog the folds in the pink napkin

on the wall a patch of sunlight shrinks darkens your loaded questions

a torn envelope two nicked coins sticky with date flesh

by streetlight ants crawl out of the slot in the meter

pinning the corsage my sister’s new sister sticks my chest

in the moldy cardboard box three jars of different size

remember you naked i can’t even remember what you wore

cracked and hanging from a cord the side mirror filled with trees and sky

heat of dawn a skinny stray perches on the lip of the pool

oak leaf the wiper won’t shake free things to keep your hair in place

we speak of our childhood tv shows as if they were festivals

sun opaqued grime on the window a shadow passes

objects fall the definition of silver wavers slightly

dream hungry the call of a crow on the telephone pole

sandwiches pile up on his doorstep the rain smells of salt

something feral in her translucence it’s not going to happen like that

briefly green from the copier two faces speaking to each other

just before it grows light you cough and rustle over there in the bed

last cranefly of the summer the storm purples the room again

out on furlough they return through a chain link fence the moon indented

i hold her against the possibility of nothing other than this

the countenance of the little girl muted distant televisions

in the grout bits of the letters that didn’t wash off

afternoon glare mist collects between trees and in doorways

the latch’s resistant slip into the click a moth grazes her leg

tensile strength of thistle the outcome of serotonin and loophole

that dark thing in the green of your eye next to the window that’s me

days of rain the photo tacked to the wall starts to curl

he washes his feet in the lake the cormorants their wings

panties left under the chair the house creaks in the cold

my face a trapdoor spider candy foil floats along the dark train floor

rich cranial threnody you have to kiss your demons on the mouth

gravel road in a murky puddle a ball drifts slowly

the moon sets behind the building across the way my pills

rain louder than thoughts everything comes but the bus

draped over the rim of the tub a red washcloth the bulb flickers

today i wait all day to brush against you as if by mistake

where the print was on the wall the shadows of four push pins

valentine’s day i try to leave before the conversation

the orange glint of rush hour way up there a hawk circling

she says it’s my parlor trick the day just light plus wind plus trees

the freezing mist lingers in the dirt yard a few white flowers

the cemetery in the crevices of your palm blackberry juice

holding together the last of the snow a few pine needles

all the lights humming uncomfortable in every position

in the blue of his eye some wires and behinds them clouds

your note unread i hear it in my pocket when i sit down

a silty pool the tip of a rusting coat hanger juts forth

light from the car door an erratic circling of bats

like they’ve had an argument the crumpled napkins on the floor

all of this in the balloon listing against the white curtain

new lines in my finger evening mist overtakes the high clouds

after the movie it’s still raining

sunk in the mud a crushed blue can clover casting a shadow

doppleganger spring a drawer of torn lingerie and failed medicines

anticipating the pencil point breaking the smell of cooked rice

she’s in the shower an airplane crosses the darkness behind the trees

deciding not to clean out my thumbnail an unlisted number

in this town the lists are shorter the sky affixed with snaps

the way she says egrets struggling jasmine

all along the tracks splintered shapes swelling in the rain

painted white but it leaves a shadow the staple in the wall

the lights go out here in the room all along the full moon

distance acquiesces to heat you tell the fly he’s ephemeral

panties dry in the tree from across the field a guitar out of tune

twilight the children shout the names of their dogs freeway and tequila

we both wind up in the fruit aisle one of the lights above blinks out

opacity where the green fronds overlap each other

a passing train the passengers’ faces still and dimly lit

i’m sorry i just needed to look at something yellow

half the billboard flaps in the wind in the dust splotches of rain

the plum blooms too early never far apart two crows

a hurried good-by the chain link fence in both our mouths

icy mist from a hole in the wall a bundle of wires

the shortest day of the year i wash an apple in warm water

aren’t all prophesies self-fulfilling sugar written in spanish

one buttoned one not our shirts hang from the knobs on the door

stuck to the window screen furry white seeds their minute shadows

still in the clefts of the waxy green leaves a bit of snow

no continuous skyline the relentless efficacy of breasts

steam drifting from a manhole a crow picks at ragged plastic

hard to see them falling from the ceiling tiny spiders she’s not home

will this be one of the days i remember and grass

the bus shelter when the rain comes someone else’s flies

after we’ve met my wife introduces us

an old latex glove nearly covered by bruised magnolia petals

the red stone isn’t really a stone the river would kill you

rippling on the bright pavement the shadows of triangular flags

i dropped that on your shoe because i couldn’t taste the cherries

where the curve in the metal peaks a taut black cord its slight motion

the exotics bloom first your callused hands nowhere beneath the sheets

no i didn’t say i thought he was nice i said i thought he was smart

a break in the clouds a few stars brighter than the others

full moon a white shirt hangs from a line between buildings

when will this secret life happen like spilling cans our conversation

on the edge of the paper an ant the smell of rain without the rain

her body warmer from the fever i pull a hair from my mouth

blown in from the patio a couple of spent wooden matches

new year’s day i find a sliver of soap on the rim of the tub

she makes her point the wet tires passing outside reach us

bee sting the silent archipelago envelopes

five crows meet on the roof next door we don’t know you’re pregnant

snagged on the rock the water going out with the tide

pushed away from the bark by the moss a flake of lichen

some strange taste to your finger what happens to the crickets

nectar infiltrated even garbage is advertising

through a gap in the seat of the broken bus bench a weed has grown

twisting in a swing she talks on the phone about her butt

the lamp still creaking from the tremor a thin persistent rain

where the hair stopped growing he said embedded with iconography

in the car shadows on the late afternoon wall our bodies mingle

while the receipt prints she fingers a button on her sweater

left on the edges of the cracks blue dye a robin kicks up the wet earth

dawn monday a wind from the bay stirs the heavy magnolias

things accrue to places like antibodies you can smell yourself

the arctic has melted i flush a plum seed down the toilet

between pots overgrown with dead grasses a spider rejoins its strands

her strap keeps slipping somewhere tar boils in the october air

the humid smell of rain turns into morning heat and coughing

actually the sky isn’t gray what would i say to you anyway

cool breeze flitting among stains the ants cast shadows

her hand covers my ear the sound blood makes

birds augur the dusk under the freeway giraffes painted on pylons

in the dim light the lines on the map fade away

today just a window into others she must still be in high school

our monkey aberration everything the blue of black except the foam

it hovers then flies back at me what i spit out

above the mist the waxing moon somewhere a tv’s turned off

newspaper machines empty of newspapers the parking lot submerged

the house darkens into the rain i hold her approximation

an apple shriveled on the sill the hummingbird darts through wet leaves

the translucency of surfaces better than gentle be exact

with the other rubberbands a yellow rubberband

a green chair without its seat tracked in tiny wet leaves

a balloon lies uninflated in the gutter nikki is the bomb

my cold foot steps on her bra still warm

fires in august darting through the grasses a dragonfly

if i’d known that was going to surprise you i would’ve done it sooner

later there’s this an incandescent light ceaseless rain

mercurial is putting it nicely the tops of the trees sway

a turn in the sky i like how you write the word your without an r

mirrored in the closing elevator doors a forgotten red ball

imagining her with someone else behind the blinds the moon

thick hailstones in april i keep swallowing my tail

under the white feather resting on the cracked lake floor beads of water

the martian chronicles read over the phone unsteady hand jobs

visible only in the shaft of light a circling fly her crumpled clothes

where the photographs hung on the wall nails a hook some string

day of the dead thousands of gnats leave the shade and return

bulletproof crow freeway two thin sticks still tied to the base

leafless vines entwined in the unraveling barbed wire

was that you all i saw was glare coming from the glass

convenience store parking lot two girls share a cigarette in a car

twelve flights up hearing the building sway in the twilight

the grass drips into the hydrangea air my loose ardency

knowing from its weight what the letter says

you almost put your hand on my waist when you introduce us

turning pink in the pool of rain a sock spotted with blood

the full moon low a dead tree all its seed cones

the crows fly into the rain i’m taller than you

in the center of the round table a staple bent open

washed over the edge of the bowl an ant holding a yellow fleck

can’t say yes and can’t say no faintly the frogs in late winter

the hot asphalt roof small white petals blow in circles

discussing terrorism another glimpse of your underarm hair

in the brief flash of the train’s light on the tunnel wall the word abhor

clinging to the shaded undersides of the apples drops of water

a dry sunset the flies won’t stay off of my skin

almost cold rain on the median weeds and a three of spades

obscure texts the clean water makes me sick

they turn off the lights here in the room all along the full moon

marbled blue on the round inside of her arm and then the eating

in the shade of the bridge the stones glitter in the creek

the silence of sunday unraveling in fingers of cricket speech

night has no flavor i think of your breath in another city

thick snow falls on the almond petals an unseen crow

balled up in the shower her wet dress the soughing darkness

the faint shadows on the paper made by creases in the paper

totality is absent late at night they paint white lines on the road

the hand that always aches talking to a girl about long division

yellowed in the mirror what others see a creaking fan

a moth thumping the lamp shade i taste myself on her tongue

the window well some rain that leaked in sloshes back and forth

white skin where the strap rested dishes shift in the sink

i swallowed the pomegranate seed you can’t touch me now

the drip down the back of her thigh a mourning dove calls

damp tub blue in the dusk weighed down by blood a mosquito

trying to avoid you i run into you even more

indian summer no indians just still heat traffic

alone she makes the noises of a cat in the drain some petals

raindrops drip around fingerprints on the glass a rough tear in the seat

lyric intervention painted over all day i dream about sex

silver in the dusk eucalyptus leaves the sidewalk narrows

on the pencil a late december ladybug the buzzer goes off

used baudrillard her scent lingers in the philosophy section

underneath the minutes traces of the mist yellow the air

in the headlights a few new slats of fence your mole occluded

pine cones on the sere littered grass the white gulls bob

on the sill the tea bag steams slivers of glass you missed

clapping my hands i kill a mosquito find it was a moth

the newest leaves red like skin numbers and mummery

under her sock another sock needles dripping rain

a slightly swaying chain dandelion seeds float by

warm october night on the cracked plate that’s drying a fly

so many i don’t see them at first smelt in the silt and algae

she reads the paper as if protecting the rest of us from it

unforeseen green winter your stolen moments someone has them

the sun shifts to the rest of the house a petal blows across the rug

perfume in the stairwell a drop of rain on the spider’s back

between the cars of the train her body turns from yellow to blue

the hollow of a tree beer bottles their labels worn away

will the plague end this winter five times in the direction of the moon

a heron sifts through the dark stuff we sleep in different rooms

pulling spinach leaves from their stems i think about the drug

fly always finds me in a room of people your archaeopteryx

cleanly broken half a stone tufts of white in the hot sky

swinging boom can crush a girl in mirrored glasses passes on a bike

all the color has settled to the bottom of the bowl

the dove’s nest without the dove a fan left on all night

in the dream i was danäe waiting for a drip from the ceiling

clusters of lichen on the branches chimes stir but make no sound

across the aisle her shoes move furtively against each other

dusk deepens three forks on the table facing different directions

in the glass of the fish tank a bit of the leafless tree

a bead bounces on the linoleum she said it wouldn’t hurt

abruptness of seed taking orders from the smaller machines

midnight at the point in your letter i keep seeing the word exfoliate

the aqueduct slick with moss a crushed trash can on its side

a weed in bloom where the fence’s torn back the links gleam

i fill my head with crows to avoid the sound of your name

it keeps peeling itself off into a moth the bare bulb in the night

these clouds impostors the grip of her hand firmer than mine

the lake obscured by fog downstairs they’re fighting

doing nothing about it i watch silverfish crawls on your stockings

seemed like it cracked the windshield a sudden yellow leaf

we step on things we can’t see and don’t you ever get any sun

one sock still on she’s darker than i thought

a condom we didn’t use mosquitoes keep to the shadows

days now grow smaller the air smells of ignition

not the words she whispers just their lilt and wetness

beneath the warm drifting surface cool sand the click of stones

stuck in the synthetic nipple a blue christmas light

not much to say about the rain there’s a helicopter

she changes her bathing suit again the flies start biting

tell me a story but not a very good one so i’ll feel better

moon full in the mist a bag of bottles settles

right now is optimal because of its seeming verisimilitude

under the sheets my feet find last night’s socks

a blue door tied down to the top of a car the stink of cut grass

milt of friction the ring where the ring keeps the light from her skin

through the floor the muffled radio sells something

the next day i remember buzz aldrin the pool closed for repairs

collecting rain a piece of wasp’s nest on the asphalt

pockets of heat under the dark trees a porch light goes out

her hand covered in orange pulp she slips into her accent

objects in mirror are closer than they appear clouds

after plucking hairs from my ear the tea tastes different

in the brown grasses a broken bowl drawn to something flies

embedded in wet sand three red berries on a twig

ascribe an eros to the flurry of stockings the cold scald of air

over her freckled shoulder news about why insect bites itch

rain dripping from a light bulb a car backfires

if i said every word i know i’d say your name twice

the breakfast special missing a few letters not quite spring

night brings all its silences to bear the alkaline dryness of lips

lawnmowers outside i make the rumpled half of the bed

the shadows on the leaves are the shadows of other leaves

the starlings return her voice through a cold phone

fallen elm leaves the plastic bag remains

a steep flight of stairs weeds yellow and crumble in the cracks

slow becomes owls wind a mystery with zippers

heat i kiss the innertube smell on her chiseled hand

rain disturbed pools on the roof below a floodlight keeps coming on

flies mating in circles a plane leaves a white line in the sky

weeds as tall as roses what i threw out the window when we fought

lunacy a lost poem about an acetylene torch

trailing from the dumpster into the shadows a spool of kite string

wood smoke in the warm afternoon a deaf woman talks to herself

she pulls her collar over the mole below her necklace rain in june

left in a wine glass a purple crayon broken and peeled open

i can’t tell you about the moth the air with less air is called haze

twilight it looks like a fish this morning’s paper wrapped in plastic

pushing my fingers into the warm soil in a car a woman laughs

the shadow of the filament wavers then settles on the blank page

a misprint in her body language tear open the air to black seeds

full moon entangled on a reed by the creek a shiny ribbon

as if they belonged to someone else i put on my clothes

a bent playing card in a clay pot the sound of ants in the grass

an airtight bag of crickets the pleats in her grey skirt

an old injury i lick your thigh because it tastes of soot

waiting for the timer to go off i let the moth walk on my arm

you only wear those when you go out the ceiling is leaking

the sock swallows itself darkly a small shard of violence

pieces of bark in the shade of the tree still covered with frost

in the shower i make the water hotter and notice the fly

voices from the grade school the sink filled with shifting leaf shadows

small creases in your information filled with anxious juices

the corners of the window a slight green on the piano one note

the dark shape of a spider wrapping a moth it starts raining

between page twenty-two and twenty-three a loop of black hair

she whispers in another language the intermittent rumble of the elevator

fork tines not the actual sensation

the blue heron has come back arsenic in the tapwater

moon almost new we pass through the construction of unseen walls

a green shimmer on the wall the murmur of men’s voices

during our argument a hairy seed floats through the car

i have always been a spy in the softer parts a few mites appear

a little steam rises from the empty tea cup

frost melting at dawn a crow lands on the traffic signal

we exhaust the five hundred gimmicks eucalyptus leaves like metal

the mail box a novel in a condensation blurry plastic bag

beneath your shirt i find the small of your back the grey rain

an ant crawls around the stain that seeps into the napkin

a power outage small pieces of blinding cloud in the hot sky

trying not to eat a fig why didn’t i see you today

saxophone practice upstairs the machine fills with water

a purple evening in the window she folds her underwear

behind the moon there is another moon the egrets reluctant

winter again in my coat pocket a strand of her hair

after the picnic she wants to talk about the irs

a memory of our collective death your conduct disorder here

wind stirs the wind chimes on the porch somewhere there’s a fire

fast-food containers the weeds green from the warm rain

a spot on the table without varnish quietly the heave of trees

for a moment under the sink i smell roses why did you do that

murder of an august the planes spray the fields with who knows what

the moon wanes in the day sky your smallest clothes on the line

crushed by a tire the yellow pencil fans out from its metal end

the first woman i see smiles at me and ruins the rest of the day

wan light of the bathroom a spider lowers to the blue tile

leaving the shadow of downtown what’s left of the pigeon’s foot

collecting at the tips of the budding alder branch drops of rain

frictionless dusk the fruit that leaks through and burns

where they put out the fire green moss glows in the mist

the vents are being replaced i touch your drink by mistake

covered with frost a shopping cart on its side under the streetlight

moon a tear made in the sky with a fingernail don’t answer the door

soon the magnolias will bloom a ball of paper on the path

the umbrellas cast no shadows on the upended bike a wheel turns

they belong inside the body the clouds a nail rusting in a pool

you pee so quietly a few birds swelling in the rain

at her estate sale i expose a roll of film from 1929

soaking in a jar for three days the beans are pink and ready to split

dusk the winter moon blades of grass sprout from a nest

feeling a bee three coins in my hand flash with the sun

a product for every second of the day that man smells of urine

in the lit window across the way her hands take off her socks

an occasional plunk of stones the breeze turns the river green

too windy for a hat sheets of newspaper slap the chain link fence

the teeth of an atrocity speaking backwards on the phone

the brief warm spell over thumping the outside of the pane flies

the thought of your slip-ons slapping against your heels my mouth grows wet

a dusk rain mosquitoes drift up through the hole in the garage

cloud shadows on the ceiling spring will bury me

between two houses a crane rises the pigeons pick at chicken bones

after the shower a ring of sand left in her ear

the trickle in the gutter a shard of glass reflects the sun

all the slurring and none of the puncture no i said sects

two moths hover above the dripping faucet all this smog

there is an eye tuned to the scrape of a chair there is an ambulance

a sky full of plum flesh tilting my head to the egret

just the tag of her panties sticking out from her crumpled blue jeans

warm wind a plastic bag rustles on a parking meter

broken in three places the feather of an unknown bird

the blackberry i picked for you is full of ants at last it grows dark

the full moon coats the dark lake boarding an empty bus

a sweat from questionable meat this time the monster saves the day

some blurry some sharp weed shadows on the shimmering pavement

april rain the robin’s foot closes a few times then stops

a girl i went to high school with her mouth on a movie poster

a tea leaf blocks the drain like something other than music

covered in graffiti the train passes quickly through town

behind the slightly opaque glass a bowl of oranges

the oak creaks in the evening heat a glinting penny

codeine withdrawal there’s a full moon and she won’t talk to me

at the flower stand two tall men kiss hastily

the last light turned off a scent of pine in the room

later you realize it was actually a piece of your own body

moss around the edge of the drain the radio plays static

her hands turn purple in the rain an empty bus passes

a house made up of extra furniture on the warm breeze pesticide

dido translucent like rice an accumulation of minor cruelties

while we were talking the chinese magnolia opened

that new smell in the room it must be you

a crow then another crow passes faint voices in another yard

throwing stones at dandelions that wasn’t one machine it was two

her ringed finger twitching she rouses briefly and says dragonfly

myrtle leaves stained the pavement there’s that hole in my sock

a new moon the radio barely audible late at night

an act of transcription closes up the flower travel a violence

flecks where the paint is gone on the glass her fingerprint

it’s been ten years we start calling each other by name

end of summer rain the dime in the lint trap still warm

blue hills grow dim in the icy haze the tractors on consignment

i get on top of you they start playing a commercial

the split wet half of a pine cone a blade of grass emerges

she’s kicked me out at the fountain they discuss regional dialects

its stillness disconcerting a hummingbird at the end of a branch

remembering something from next week all my fingers but one cold

the smell of garbage cans she asks me to keep her ring anyway

a place on your body neither of us know of air and thistle

her burn in the sunlight actually those aren’t clouds that’s a dragon

in a pile of leaves a white dish rag the mist becomes rain

low in the fog the moon past full her boots ring on the stairs

things i saw on the way to your ablution marked down thirty percent

collecting in large beads on the curling leaf a drizzle

on a seat at the bus station torn panties some old pills

past midnight a fly settles on the last page of the book

cold spring rain snail in its beak the crow blinks

on the saucer chips of blue glass embedded in wax

i open the oven to the smell of sweet potatoes your panties

five matches lit blown out no word from the butterfly garden

buffeted in circles a broken umbrella all the houses dark

night encircled by pine trees the slender moon sets in the fog

the fall and round the sloping green your only friend is this thought

rain the shaft in the center of the building smells like an animal

dawn pollen still clings to the hairs on the back of her neck

a nest from last year date pits litter the broken glass

morning thick and humid they forgot to turn off the streetlights

where i sometimes kiss her spider bites light wavers on the ceiling

the crow still at the side of the road long shadows of july’s weeds

indehiscence or abrogation these clouds a splintered language

on the bus rocking against the blind woman’s shoe an apple

a space left by the brick yellow roots grow pale in the rain

moon is slow the acid environment of the vagina

jays scatter the freshly cut grass into clumps you know you’re lying

prepare to be blown away the morning forgives me

at the seam a few loose threads a bright leaf drifts down

diving into the shudder of darkness maybe this time

disrupted where the pavement’s still we the shadows of girders

for just a moment my sense of smell returns the bewildered elms

green at the close of winter a broken crate in the empty train car

apparently she decided against underwear the figs gone bad

after the mri i decide i need a new toothbrush

rain pelts the window anchored to the ceiling swaying cobwebs

before stepping over them she crushes the bread crumbs with her shoe

where the lines end and the absence begins an architecture or so

the brown dusk held by algae blooms an egret’s feather

another zip code the taut play of muscle between your shoulder blades

i wasn’t sure if he said cake or hate the dark of the moon

on the dull wooden floor a red sock wrapped around itself

the tips of my fingers smell burnt like her soap the one you hate

if this were an espionage film we’d all be dead

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