Plea for Better Media

Stop being so easy.
Please, they are so

easily led. Project in-
stead a message of argument.

Stop curling up as pill-
bugs curl, and uncurl

showing your velvet underside,
black, holding legs of every

creature left on earth, besides!
Move up the hardwood floor

beneath the body, barely
curling up; alive then dead.

And so distrust its motions
or distract from them as best

we can.

Pickling Liquid, Large Glasses

The main mast of a ship, white
sails cresting distance

in response to it. Carry-
ing on with a list, tries to

carry away, and to dispel it's gasses
on strong trade winds, but can't.

A stain upon the small lead,
green it seems to mine

eye, encircled by a bird
who's flying low, eyeing the ship

with hungry eyes, no irony
and no surprise. It has

a medical meaning in it's wing
feathers. Its fluffy down spreads

particles of preservation. Leaves
trail of picked fish when fly'ng

it lands upon the crows-nest then
alights.

Mob, Moors

After the exploration of peat moss
their bodies were kept in empty

oil barrels. It taught us to be wary
for evidence of things long dead.

Gasses, things that float don't hold
in neutral-bouyant plasma. Bed

of conformity for corpses. Not
unlike green florists foam. Until

a stagnant undertow grew under
the slurry of water and moss. Who

moving through it could leave traces.
Grown and decomposition will outpace us.

Three Things That You Are

1)
You are an esophageal
convulsion. Take that

whatever way you will.


2)
You are preparing
hygiene, cleaning

clipping fingernails. And
treading those finer dis-

tinctions. Whether stay–die
or leave here and live with

repercussions of cuticles.


3)
Stop making my decisions
you are the driver of an ice rig.

Eighteen wheels, steel covered
and something presumably important

and you make the journey, but it's dicey.