JUMPT GUN
Or else I witness, first
light, a length of shadows.
A motion set in motion, red
handed shy’s lot. Animalcule.
“Come inside the fence,”
said the dead man.
Party to a crime, n sureface
sugar tongue, “Cock
the gun” and dirt this.
Then things will be different.
The current price, hard up
hard to cut, no afternoon.
None such moment when
action stops. Tom cat,
old goat, “Nothing takes
place but the place."
A hard to cut atlas
of neural circuits
known for a house
can question the act
of looking when we
corrupt a thing. “Come
inside the fence. Cock the gun.”
Not beyond how men
move. The physics of lust
rule collision. Or else
drives any of the horses
into the thick of it. Still and all,
of what structure forms
out of step. Blood blister,
dirt, this.
HANG HANG
To be called, named.
Don’t give a hang
hang. No, that’s not
it. That’s not how
it is. Heel bone
head. Keep the sheriff
from the door. Like
a foolproof fire
hazard. Sure, I
have one’s hands.
Turnin a threshing
machine. Head in
for share. Thunder
struck, and make out fine.
No one can attain paradise
on earth. That which cannot be
lost, gleamed. Ray beyond
the skerries, found
and come to grief.
OTHER TYPE OF VIOLENCE
Sound discloses cliff
like quite another matter.
A tight-lipped conflict,
the wind from still
a similar direction.
Look out the overlook.
Stakes everything dumb
founded. Can you tell me
how long it could last.
But sing or hold its importance.
Ill will isn’t arithmetic
overruled by compulsion
to touch. I bend knees.
I bow back to access
rack and ruin. Is this the
way to the beach.
Burl, a crackling amongst
the trees. This isn’t better.
This isn’t primary.
Tell me I’ll give you
what salt will stay
on the tip of a knife.
TURN RUN
Light touch, a rivet
upon another meter of cloth.
Thicksot him to spot up
or reckon. I dust a cake with
sugar and slightly ache.
A good grounding is good
enough like landing on the moon.
Two by two, and two and two
I horn tuck beside a hidden reef.
Always on the same string, I
envy. Not to be caught in two,
in half. One after the other,
the tea is ready. Bother the mark
and clever as all that.
AIN’T TELLIN
Across horse thief basin
I washed my feet with dirt.
Before the plateau, tenor
intent, a truck carrying
stacked sacks of onions
passed sprawling. The road
hummed. I crouched.
I, down miles and
ripe.
Backwards was black.
A canyon city hefted by
patches dry and full
of feeling. I hummed.
An observable streak
of rain fell from above
but never touched
the ground around
me and I paraded on
through the solo arena
thinking of how I
would describe you
to myself.
OVERLAND HORSETRADER
A rooster’s legs don’t
hold up to scorn. Dig
in, cling a middling like
slang girl. The skin on
hot milk. At the milepost
he was almost crying.
Pack animal, graze,
sneer of yesteryear,
that will have to do.
FUTURE SORROW
Satellite city signals
a bullfinch in celebration
of the kill. Raceme sad
heart. Elucidate forcibly
so it hurts. The tree
is loaded with fruit.
Cluster’s a bull’s eye,
a witchhunt for 200 ton’s
burden. One goose,
two geese. One moose.
Rosy red underparts
pathed, bathed. A half
grain boy in a moth proof
bag proves nothing.
From now on, ninny.
SO LOVELY I BURST
Big I, little you
so punningly with letters,
so stunningly big a bug,
big ike, you important.
A boastful
man (see conqueror)
for bight. And I
suddenly jerked tight
a slack hung line.
Caught between loose,
the result of playing two
ends against the middle.
A gallon of wine, big me,
little you. He’ll want
his worth in weight
in sap saw dust soon.
PRONE
Prink skinflint a tid
bit can spent, can
cause a glow. He’s awake
and used to better things.
Cut the Gordian knot
and rise. Larder a slender
hand. He nowhere. Not
another sound. There were
women then men. Eyes swimming
with blood, a fortune. Round
the room a course of events.
For a song off lightly he said
he has never seen anything.
A rout, a rucksack, a fist, a finger.
Enough trouble-maker
to his and her graves. Because
he was told, crowned and all
an idea that grass can trample.
This is a good spot for mushrooms.
More likely, his father. Mind you,
don’t forget to see reason.
A knave point blank, bright
spark, he was a good boy.
Across the bridge, cross the bridge
quarter an apple, to hour.
To lapwing nothing to speak of,
you can’t back out now.
IF IT BE A SKELETON
Wasn’t quiet. Savaged
event reveals only ideal witness.
A heed to hide or to come
byway of the same direction,
I will give you. A bad year
can last as long. From now
and on still sweet to tongue,
fascinate naïveté. Listen here,
now listen. Of the same string,
I envy. A bit of thief, dropful
in sound. With what departure isn’t scolded:
A bed made up on the floor or wood burned away with shame
You, look after the house.
Look after the children.
GOOD GRIEF
The last shouts died away in the night.
Half way, moon blind, minnowed
dogged in half by the inlet. A slow leak
backed by a strange woman. She has met
with an accident. Mother says hello
and thank you for the loan. Hoarfrost appears.
He’s no saint. Call on, go by, and see.
Loopless as a kind of balcony. An eye, a view to.
Could happen to anybody. Ring at the end
of a rope. Drag. A hindrance to grope
for words. Dear me, goodness on a slant.
At any rate, just as he sat praying, jammed.
Act as if nothing were the matter.
SO LONG BOBBY
I go everyday to the river.
A domestic hen, thin resembles
a shaped ceremonial occasion.
Domestic hen, thin.
Be careful, you think
is not only for church.
Like that of a letter,
the northern constellation
of Cassiopeia tethers.
Monstrosity, there are
so many occasions. So
many feathers on the ground.
My neighbor woman wears
men's clothes like light electric
filaments. I heavy, heave
myself daily to stone.