And on your left, we pass the longest night of the year.

Festooned with the rumble of strings, rusted crystal, careening down the stream during some soft thaw, distinct. Some say he was a prisoner who was never set free. This is world news. Retailers chart the brink of condition, wanted to remove life support. An army mom returning from war has begun. So tonight, rack of prime rib, the warm homely smell of death when you step through the door from froze crisp twigs. Some say the savings never even begin.

After the longest night of the year: a length pulled over green ripple, a cooled land and collected enveloping, a whorish glory stump. She has the family over and to the hot house, she has the family over dripping on a slab and deadened beast, the family over and over and does anyone know where Grandma’s strawberries are? I am in this with everything I am.

My heart and my soul broken on a wheel testing sentience with the ends of what thinking makes it so rigid, so enmeshed. In only a few minutes.

The meat that I eat brings me to tears.

So that happened. With that flavor, white widow, coating the top of my mouth as I breath her in, far off in another room but also thumbing his way over, evolved and incandescent. In a candy jail, the semitic overtakes you: the very same chemical compound that allows you to see color, drowning in fences. The meat that I eat brings me to here and to here and to here, her scent long bottled in butterfly humming, and just as delicate, right along grazing in her throat. Around and around in the fences I go, as soon I will own everything in the world that depicts dogs playing poker face.

It happens to me all the time, and sometimes even then.

And just like that the world puddled. I trudge out to suck through laps and push my moving over the face of the swamp, light ill with waking. And just then the sky failed.

Where were you, in the solarium? Yeah, Christmas strewn with filth in the corners.

Where were you born? In a cascading see-saw, the shells rescue for our faces pressed sexual and honest against those full agonists for the canabinoid receptors. For the cans blistering rusted bouquet like something crying in the woods, insane kittens. What will you do now? I try to live among the dead and days off.

I try to be some sort of broadcast. Some reach just beyond hearing, agonizing in the corner, oxidating with chrome agriculture, asked it once of me. That soaked crowd would flow and follow, like a willow burst and done with flowers, wanton consumption. The soup is done.

I’ve been known to have right at it. I’ll slather you in festooning.

To which of the following events is it advisable to wear costume jewelry: the residue of smoke, residuals dipping in and alerting, a swamp pampered palace impregnable to my own ignorance, a lack of attention ensuing. Ambition.

It is not because of inattention there bursts here too tongues of estimates, darting in and around esteem.

They help him walk on crusts through gas. Is this something he needs? Or they’ll slip into common speech, cherished like tupperware lids, and just as obvious when reaching into the cupboard.

See here, I’ll try to redress your nude grief. When you’re floating on by in your gold dress. Some of the questions drench the people, thickened church rich and illumined with bituminous veins, always in a tumult. I’ll tumble for ya.

I’ll tumble for you. I’ll crease mute hunts on your second mornings until together we make things right.

I am not of your people, he said
taking the plate from your hands
as a buffer
Ashes schedule us
connect ports or dots
Poker-dotted
tables dim
along the throat the night
Rage
He laughed
because it’s submitted by ajax
Simply put
When she woke he was
usually in his place
in helvetica
without comedy
I like the erotic confusion
of rain where fists can fish
and you pay your fare
Rowsmen like to look at you
sides of their faces
drifting off
I dug oil out from where you were sitting
You stand up straight
absorbed in sleeping off nights
with his hands on your throat once
more into the breach
They’re building a new bridge
between you and I and everything after
and you don’t need no credit card to ride on this train

To wake up on a day for travel
just early enough to embrace frost
reveals the ranch bare and stable

still out there, rolling willow branches
We took a couch out to the yard
years ago, finally through

You can still sit on it
But just so you know, in
the clearing in a kind of

hook shaped
lack
of crows

Your big black ring stares
back at the clean clouded sky
We’ll ask around

No-one complains. Breath by breath he falls through, listening for the bottom of himself. This process is called “curing.”

Why don’t you love this man? Even the best of friends sometimes. “Help me,” she murmurs. We do this by shuffling liquids between us, they gather like hungry fish just under our skin when fingertips skim, straining for krill. “Wish?” I didn’t have to feel anything at all for the first few weeks of life.

You don’t need to feel frightened just yet. This is a routine.

Kitten, you make it very hard to sweep. You dart with starving claws at your litter, scattering what’s left behind. Dying in color, this old man came rolling home, blinking penny eyes and blisters. It’s okay if you have to leave the party. It’s only natural.