Primavera with three graces

Anyway, it's about going to the movies (To not notice you were holding hands until you let go) (Let the letting go happen first then

(I've been paying attention to sequence, where better stories are out of it)

Storefront mangled by wolves and televisions. It smells like cantaloupe when you slow down a fancy and the fan is on, in summer, some spinning, some pale orange tumbling backwards. Some letters with accents on them, left over from a spelling bee


He told me words like trees were abstract words, arbor slurred on a map our birds splatter the myth of
shelter under cars.

Maybe we are flying and they are standing still and the river controls the wimpy light of reflection by only letting us witness the abilities we can actually handle

Wrap our minze around

What do you really see, the body wrapped in its own warmth at the change of seasons or that warmth is an abstract word which produces its sensation more than describing it. Sad movie. Romantic Movie. Sad, romantic movie. Serious movie. Swift mood. Warm move to other galaxy with no kitsch whatsoever. Is what we did

Before this I thought words like justice were abstract words

All words are abstract words

Even the dancer, when she sleeps through the onlyness of her being/language

then wakes up and approaches the mirror where delimiting, dim lit

There are nine poems that end with something burning, and just one life wherein to fetch the water or become an addict, pretend it isn't there to keep a destination in tact

Roam the streets and stripes looking a black spring in the feeling

The only way to learn a word is to learn its behavior, its motion. May your slum have mercy on our souls. Illiterate baby, fluent in blankness, skillfully pointing at every window for the thrill of repeating the brand new feeling

my home my home my home my home my home my homme my homme, my how many,

keeps turning up