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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