i
mind is a night wing in the blind
atmosphere that sprinkles the ground
with its own dust. you are your own muscular
witness in a wide station of wandering
twin. a sphinx’s deft spree escorts you,
honey milk animal nothing, to a missing
manifold. non-copernican rubato rubato
sing their carnal doubt trapped
in the sticky fluorescence of bird mango.
you release your most seductive words
into an unfamiliar house of cards. ready?
3-2-1. you are now entering your foreign
birthplace. here is your guide. take the scribe’s
placebo and repeat after the cagey beast:

ii
i flaunt remembrance in inky woods, quote
lapses of blue shadows. for all the inevitable
holes in my umbrella, i follow my calling