These were never those in jam jars or these in butterflies over small fishing ships sitting on girls’ long hair strands

All for a night or a dull thud on third avenue. A bird’s nest finished me a reptile a dinosaur grabbed me by my shirt sleeve roughly and led the way

These feets were broken during the renaissance these fingers washed ashore or caught in the nets

A lizard was satisfied the toll plaza and one shallow dog came to show me his bone.

I laugh at Garrett’s knees, stroke her free of bathwater, red

Or her she trips over the threshold the doorway a little and sneezes. She begins her tea on one foot and all

Because I am unable to find the slip cover permit me these my whitened arguments

Or one doesn’t fly over with keys in hand and re-assemble the water table towards my red ideal.

All the feathers fall out the bar is closest to my heart a detective brings us to the landfill.

Isn’t it you, the demystifier, the wing commander touching asleep with fingers wrapped around the edges of the curtain? You raise the price of a good lay in your cream

My engine burns out and I crawl along shuddering, cold or climbing an old tree for days at a time in Autumn.

O good you, worker bee, grenadier of nights fitted with angels’ boots

Twisting away over cigarette butts. We pass quietly through wheat fields. We wait for the train to pass through our flower bed.

Ten or so of our detractors rise back up from the lunch table unable to cut our kisses down with mountains!