Brewer Springs

Dutch twoity, a woman and me, I and I and
a man who told the world: nothing.

Foisting relief in respite on unready
electric thumbs, by the deserted cowfields

after an ellipsis—cogitative, peripatetic,
peninsular at a cost. Prying a loose

administration to our nightly adolescence
save an orphan’s subconsciouslessness:

English teacher’s Columbian assistant
posturing mid-sixteenth century’s long-

distance, obscurantist phonecall, tall, over
furious green blackboard, pale,

green, as generators beneath a faithless,
finger-bone.