We made a black thing
out of light-without effort.

Can’t you see I’m the one bearing
the perfect attendance medal
across my chest, and an award

The sky has come down around us like a shroud.

Use plain language.

Strands of hair pushed through the floorboards,
and once the whole corpse
came late to a party.

In the beginning is the paper, blank and void.
That’s the way you buy it, the unwritten “word”.
The clean slate of your law-abiding citizen

vive morte ma seule saison
lis blancs chrysanthèmes

The forest comes down at night. She waits until the last tram has left, then sets off. She meets the drunks—with eyes half-shut they pass through her, they stumble but don’t curse. The forest walks steadily on. 

In 1936 it was a hot spring in
Cincinnati
We were in English class and the

My Dalmation yearns to speak to me this morning.
She is more-than-elegant in her sleek musculature—
demure, nubile, oddly cat-like before breakfast.

Bob’s brother was born invisible, but through chance we can only call miraculous, he survived the delivery room and those dangerous early days on the planet. In fact, no one noticed him, although Bob’s mother did feel a second squeeze and jolt ten minutes after Bob was out. The