Out of some toasty leaf-burrow she wallows into the cold,
following what calls her across
the icy crust of creek and up the ridge to my yard,

Today a cold wind travels the earth,
not arid, parching as later it will be,
dragging leaves from branches with a sound

My sister and I don’t seem to get along too well anymore.  
She always has to have everything new in her house. Cherished ideals  
don’t suit her teal, rust and eggshell color scheme.  

The smothering heat of a July night
Squats in a second floor bedroom
And doesn’t move despite the desk fan’s

This is the repugnant part, where now
you covet the loss which a moment before
brought you the severed torso in the dream.

Avenging ivy padding up the wall of the Abbey’s west wing
Could only be part of a masterplan to rescue posterity
From a curling, yellowing, nonetheless dangerous manuscript

moments like this one, the green carpet
looking for once just the right green,
is it the lighting, or your shadow thrown

His companions fell asleep on the hawsers in the stern;
and she came, took him by the hand and led him
a little ways above the shore; she lay down beside him

Fifteen or twenty more dollars a night,
They could enact this solemn start
On the Grand Canal, if just in a garret

an ear goes for an ironic walk it greets the increasing entropy denying however a lupin the cloud column is introduced the ear turns itself into a doric helix by means of a sound shift a logos reveals itself as a transvestite nevertheless the ear continues to listen a prefix is riveted to it an apophony calls generalities into question and evokes remote tenses whereupon