a star stretched over to
lend a little limelight to  
a young man playing the
hostel’s guitar

his lower back aches a bit
the grass is still wet—&
the front door is quite gray

the clarity of execution is
lesser than that of the idea— 
he knows this won’t do

he sighs & takes of his shoes— 
surrenders to the new shy standard

like tiny islands in the ocean—
a cluster of distractions bump
into front yards 

from orange light at night—they get
a pass to go above the speed limit &
become a gold line moving from

A to B until it knows enough—

proving—not enough

breathing—still not enough 

in the meantime—
we go buy some essentials & 
who knows what

i don’t know what this thing means 
but something happened 
when i looked at it—

i think it let the 
machinery start but then 
refused to finish the operation

it says the absence of the answer 
is part of the operation—
but i don’t understand how

underneath the plainness—
the mind is working like 
a motor

to stabilize—to replace the 
experience with an idea—
but it will always fall flat

coned-light unearths 
tarnished novelties

the novelist dreams of
things that are not

literally at the bottom—
but are the recordings of 

such false placements—
typically made by those

close to the smoke that 
will rise through them

the ones who don’t handle
urgency well—

those experiencing lassitude—
at loggerheads with their

true blue side—
their vision suggests

things of a deeper jest—
pushing their way into the 

crowd—away from the 
light—for now 

i have no idea what people 
think of me—& i’m afraid 
to find out

afraid to see myself
through their gray eyes

i don’t want to realize the 
experience of another flashlight 

that also can barely see their 
nose & equates periphery 
with their head

the world is the faint feeling 
of ears & cheeks—handled by 
the chin—

i cannot fathom billions 
like this 

seated just like me—behind 
their very own view—

Yes, I hear you fine / I’ll probably come closer anyhow / Does this feel alright? / It does? / Very good / It’s been like four years, though / You were at that restaurant, and you really fit in / Since you did, I stared, and then I fled / and at the same time she said, “One now” / Yeah, I wish i was in like that / I’ll carry you there (annoying laugh) / That was the time, yep—

“So, how do you like past lives?” 
“I’m not sitting inside”
“Why do I need to improve?”

I really enjoy listening to people, well,
I guess it depends on things like volume and timbre

“Who ordered the tostadas?” 
“We had to build the best idea” 
“I think they came from a private room” 

She laughs ‘neath the blue umbrella…or parasol? Ah, forget it— 

Do you remember the first time you scraped your knee? / That electric feeling of danger and dizziness; face flushed, eyebrows arched, sweat only at the ends of your hair (and in the air) / 
Oh, you don’t? / Well, anyways, the last piece really took me there / I want to thank you somehow / It didn’t get rained on, did it? / Sorry, I didn’t get that / There’s no need to get that way / I thought you said you were absent that day? / You felt like lying?

“Don’t trust the mirrors in your home—
They don’t reflect truthfully—
A missing tooth isn’t that big a deal anyway”

where were you?
i tripped over the
long stem— 

didn’t see you around 

i thought we agreed 
to see things from the
ground

like a worm

now my knees are 
scraped for no reason
& the grass you forgot

to cut obscures my 
already partial vision— 
i guess everything

just goes missing

so here are the main levers
you can pull on this less 
powerful model

supposing gratitude should
be felt no matter the living
room 

no matter the odor upon the
leaves in the cold garden—
changing depending on the

figure standing—on the small 
drum that they keep pounding—
i feel their faint color just 

out of reach

the way around the back of 
the barn is claimed to be the
shortest path to her house

he thinks he’s the only one 
who knows this—

when he’s not waiting for her
by the store he is building her
a rocking chair or glass blowing

her an ashtray—she doesn’t even
smoke anymore—but he’s blind 
to that—he can’t see past the 

smoke of his own cigarette—
& cigarettes make him sick 

one cold night working late on 
her saddle—he fell asleep—
forgot to put out his cigarette 

what would it look like?
a remembrance for the future 
this time around? do things 
naturally get darker or just dig
a deeper hole?

i was wondering—yesterday—
last night—how far along you
were—& if the persistence got
to you somehow—like it did me—
the last time we were together

& to think that all this time—
our Mother was the same & 
gave birth to us strangers long ago
but were given to different factions
of space & time

now i am feeling kind of nasty—
i am craving to cause trouble again—
because i finally found a country song
that i can adore—then i unfortunately 
realized

how shallow the form i practice
can be

wing when performing

the strict instructions

allow for space travel

for the introduction of

more celestial creatures

unavailable before its

capture—the trained bird

has become a silver lining

sweeping the newfound

heavens like a broom