I didn't understand love was real,
that kind people write evil poems.
dissolving each muscle
fiber into a smooth, concordant waveform
His experiment must at least incidentally have demonstrated the relative significance of story to him.
my future seemed to spring forward from my mind without consent / i ducked, thinking i could tear range into the plan
I will bend my articulable joints; I will bend my slender neck and set myself to the task of deciphering hermetic secrets scratched on tattered onionskin.
In the moonlight, I thought I could read the lines around your smile, but I would not know the right thing—not then—and so there we were, with no one telling us how to begin, nor how to comply.
I’d meant to write about the blood
spurting from his neck. But then
there will be more of those the less.
I took them, these placebo pills, because they allowed me to assert control over my impulses. I had once been a woman domineered by primitive and animalistic impulses, with too many opinions and too much attitude.
For real you can trust me in a country that can only
be explained by computers who’ll hallucinate
sunrise broken open
against rowhome
roof matchbox town
The song about prepositions is the most beautiful one / It tells us where everything is
The brass indicator on the elevator ticked leftward, lower and lower.
I work toward a wound-buttered world Death said and I agree with him.
the lights are on when they fell from the sea other days open doors / the clarity of leaves