The wind is juicy
black blister clouds roll over
tree-tops scratch names there

***

Vines slung across paths
divide the forest into
pauses in my breath

***

Smoking I catch cold
chaos in my throat before
we get eaten up

***

I always knew her
freckled small hands were singing
tongues I dreamed up once

***

Cinders of music
the sentences said something
under their hushed breath

…before the spirit of the God called Field…I am equal to what comes in…I am equal to what flows out…I identify with the worn winter-brown grasses because I step from them and through them…this is my prayer from myself to myself answered by ghost-soaked Earth…owners of cloud and mist…their houses in the hills…their houses in the valleys…their houses in the clouds…our house below the small thunder waterfall…our house twirled over with winter-quiet baroque vines…after fruit and with the dim crawl of love…you with your sky-skin and your dripping bliss…come in me…hey…come to me…hey…may we wander the clinging mists forever…may we wander the clinging mists more often…together…may there be clouds to skim our skins to shrink our misfortune…may storms resuscitate us…hey…can I has the meditation…can I has with us thrift in our drifting filaments can I has constituency in your romance…hey…I am rough equal to what flows out…I am rough equal to having you this way…

I too drink gas that clings
to earth

where her wreath
thrills with anthropophagi

I fritter away fires I stumble on
Their cut tongues lick holes

staggering generosity
I glut myself on butter of storm-

skies clutch Persephone
where the finger puts her down

I wake up before the sun
to a house shrunk friendly
with yellow light

I’ll mourn for orphans
later

Dawn sneaks across the ranch
Unseen I garden

to make rain on crowds of leaves
to dance alone

over the face of your shadow

I orbit you while you try to relax
The date expects us to

I smoke a joint, apparently waking up
while someone dies, stepping over us

Someone’s childhood tree-house
falls in weighed down
by weather, passing over

Thank god it’s not up to me
to decide what I remember