Polyglot Response

There is a smell of tar outside
the sounds of cars and passersby.
Abandoned warehouse; lights in-
side will make us come to that
someone seriously's lied. No more
colorful coverings, just ever-grow-
ing sets of things: plain smothered
coming by in groups of two, all
beige, and simplified. No text on

the insides just
blank pages. No
tufts of ringlets on
the edges. Just a
life of things expected.

·

There is a growing sense of
coffee in this liquid; it's a glass
of water. There is a bitterness

in letters
received afterwards.

There is a packing slip mis-
placed. There is a space of
ever-growing placement.

—proper placement.
There is a soft and
gilded casement.

·

There is a fire of autumn leaves
whose densing smoke cannot
decide if consequences alfresco
are worth the gains of ready ease.
Receiving people hence, like me
smell the smoke, enjoy without
guilt their not choosing it. Admitting

that they love it, for it's
gluttony. It's polyglot
response to honesty.

Fear of Displacement

Tounge depressors,
of the thought of them,
using them depressed
her in a vital way. The
wood, rounded. The
imminent departure
of the bus when you arrive
at the bus stop. Invoking
cloture over you better
angels, demons; both.

She loathes the carving
of a boat from driftwood.
Imaginary little people in
the cracks and tiny knot-
holes. The overwhelming
ocean in real scale over
the tiny portion of a real
boat.

Sunrise-Dusk

The simple choice of sub-
stitutions. Of making dinner
for one out of liquid, cooking.
Eating, drinking. I needed the
sound of television on
in the background. I found-
ered in lacking the plants, or
the vegetables to do terrible
things with.

The fear of nothing bothered
everything inside that condo.
Fear of weather, fear of wind.
Fear of humid summer nights
on the lanai. —Again. Swim-
ming alone, I still loved you.
Abandoned utilizing gods as
intercessors; He never spoke
aloud to me. He cried and lock-
ed himself away inside the
bathroom, with a bottle of sam-
buca. Nightly. The motions
were motions, nightly!

In the duplicitous musk. In that
friscalating dusklight was a war-
ning.