Angie’s Face

Resting curve-perched, backslid,
land-measuring ideas
of concavity’s threshold,
a fisherman’s flap-cap looped below
tight flesh, sunborn,
haloing reusable a neighborhood’s alias: Our
prime ordinal, or, if you must,
the inadvisable monad(Leibniz-like, a frac-
turing-auto-dialect) culled in to a littering
anesthesiology’s mettle-mad imagination,
settled atop
one lesser infinity–

behemoth non-economy’s tea-colored
envelopment: a profane, reified, plasticized,
detritus, straining.

My Love

My love, a patient love,
not obsessive.
My love admiring, breathing,
quickening, not to be dismissed,
out of sight.
My love, sensing,
having admitted to complexity
lying naked to natural,
and some unnatural contact.
My love, alive, only for a listening one,
still, quite sensitive.
My love, just, my love first, my love


An empty
birthday present thought:
the adult and
the children’s
swimming pool area

Fronted rust,
browning white,
acorns startling a foot room,
simplest zippers low to tie.

glass and free tree-flow above
elastic rasping
cornstalk blue, yellow budding awls dipped
downing the breezed pupils’
cross-howl of day.

Warped alone this threading line,
this grass-wedded pall: thus,
then, weathered.

Thereby relief in…

Oh the squandering,
alabaster, the posturing, blanketed,
Egon figurine
rib set and shoulder. Mid-century’s
tedious countenance, deflected.

A sight amid afternoon’s
dappling energy,
mosquito; thricing earliest juicing thirst
bruised in drag—frothing, sturdy, locus;
oozing red and blessed, signal
and signs, in time:

a tinkering, a hole-clot riddling.
Our inspector
readier for our secrets to be
made open
through pubis wares.

Ranchless ghost, lied phantasms, death-
bed dendrites, the night left.
Hit—light upon

something used:
to it all.