Look into the mouth of horror
& you’ll find everyday foibles
wanting to sleep by the kerb
side, if only
for a few more minutes
of untarnished dream -
Is my mouth political or just its
corners, when it turns not mind
ful of euphs and misms? Is the
Twitch of my nose mere biology or
is the canvas larger, mindful of
the oophs, the eeks & the isms?
On silence
– there are no silences, only doors that refuse to open to let the mute sun in
– if silence was certain, doors would be humorless
Each story runs late
the verbs are hassled, thunderous grammar is a tasseled adjunct to power that refuses to give tao runs dry but no sooner than the parch soars, new words begin to form as grammar vows blood – the story as parchment & love
A resonant lamp
resounds distance is three harks away 1. come no further than the eye’s hover 2. seek no earth that claims sky as father 3. while away this distance as you while away your grandmother’s patience
