Sum

once
upon
littler times
another beginning
another face
yes and no
three four simple words
and a highlighted
back road
into yourself

disregarding plans
allowing faith
to mingle
in little pieces
of light with shadowy
pictures of death
yes i know she says
but they cant hear
they are already tomorrow

this is the first earth
wow i breathed
and these are the primary
beings, the new golden
outlines, you are here
to wring trees faith
to listen to jibbering
birds at ungodly hours
yes and i suppose
also to make some sense
or to listen to its unwinding

what came to her
on a simple night
was enough to cause
a simple pain:
yes a blue monday
yes an ordinary
tuesday, it all
wracks molten
through her hair.
the way the body knows
it never knows.
the way the skin cups
fragrant, useless blossoms
however; i am not
given to breaking;
i am stuffing
shelter back up
through my nostrils
the way of the world
given to waking up.

first of all: a heat exposes
and a cold withdraws
the one simple law
completed with an oath
shelter strangles the past
freedom unleashes the vat
and allows faith to come
galloping through wider
pastures of green bodies.

who doesn't understand
that what cannot exist
without lines is because
voices post secrets
unallowing of their own
fantasies; i have scripture
in the back of my tongue
but nobody hears or sees
it; what little routes
function repeatedly
to enlist my heart and its
hickory beats
i guess i will never
know besides a hand
besides a courteous
overview of birds' noises

never knowing how little
in his eyes:
which way to meet
me; of course there is always
myself overloading, there are
twelve versions of guardedness
to untangle
a flower
a petty little flower
beeping her horn
hello you must be a survivor

wishing someone could tell me
all this before hand
hello was this supposed to be
on the exam haha but no
i am unsure i am trying
to not have to understand but it rings like
a lake full of brown noises i guess
let the time steal someone
else's voice i will couple mine
to the earth's brown glue.

today earth has stretched out
her fat fingers and i dance
unfurling horrendous clowns
of thoughts in the direction
of a muted sun. laughter:
the closest version
of a horizon
begins in me: and the severe
graduated outline of me
a basketball sheet
pressing a doll shaped
pattern over toes, over thoughts
however: one would not like
to be understood, one desires
completion, one desires
to be known on some level
or felt, like wind in trees.
being alive depends on it.