Our world could not be more up-to-the-minute
I would’ve put it on mouth as mouth: see sound whole
The clock exhausts its knocking decision
A finger’s echo on my chest after the cough chimes down
The stakes, airier than scare to material
Lesion struck moon, impossible to sight or arouse
Sunbathers leisure out, cloaked
My incessant need to tear static without knowing what is

Next, the predatory fin floats without floating
We fumble to get our hands in place
Even the victim’s stroke, a truck packed with color
I can’t help but watch my bodies leap from the chariot
Every seat in the odd upkeep and joust
Move over again for what is obsolete
What shaky hearse of rehearsed preoccupations
A bag’s imprint across my breast
Acknowledges that place we flee
Spoils what each territory demands
All that crap in my chest
Abides the unattended rotunda at my hips
Veneer over vision baiting
The fooled precession our world is
Or, we enter into identity lugging risks
That we are not reentering it
Snakes are disgusting, I think
About the white flowers as negatives of
The running woman’s blank eye-sockets