[Set]

Set
the yard on fire. All around
your windows, blaze. The
legislation stays.
Play.

I've
sustained—on my two
shoulders—cuts, somehow.
They'll mend themselves.
Now

with
this new album, "Arm's Way,"
I'm not sure. I missed your
dinner party. Like a boor.
Sore

from
sitting still so long. The
rapturous traffic aloft,
redrawn. Heaved roughly
upon

divan.
In the back of van
with soda stains and can-
dy. Pops stuck in the carpet's
pile.

Why,
I'll clean it roughly. I,
Brick. I'll lick the wound
like tongues of forrest
creatures.

Who
prominently feature them-
selves in nature. A
sink hole that's opened up
somewhere.

Where
oil ruffage and slurry take
up a well-known gleam. An
idle summer dream of
Sheen.

[Mojitos go]

Mojitos go
asunder.

Tattoo,
barely

Monumental chunder.
Temporality

of skin.
Wobbly table

shimmed.
White walls.

Not enough
stuff

Trust

Ghosts above city
looking down see grid

Which isn't there,
and never did.


Eating holy bread
black coffee

Hold Summerians
at bay.


Noting sensible.
Diagonal intersections.

Minor chords

Brett

Jeans, blue
sweater-vest
umbrella

Impress us
upon us
things. Some

Work Traveller

How can these hands,
whose arms are covered
barely. By that wool
shirt, hold pens?

Manipulate a stylus
A point so fine across.
Whose finite measure
there, so lost?

You look good to me,
and simply. Hold ground
Tentatively toss away
your leather attache.

Exit

Exit
through the rear.
A flock
of cereal eating steer
descend a ridge

and melt.
Dolls on shelf
For myself I'll
cross the queer bridge
if I make it there.