Saturday, October 08, 2005


I woke to the laughter of a friend from
A dream that life
Was ultimately a balance

Between teleology
And the moment, suddenly I knew
Buildings were just sideways

Horizons, that the sky
Was an infinite
Moment looming

Above our heads, that sexuality
Is not a reflex, just
As the intentions of a cloud

Are coupled to the eye, which in
Touching the newspaper relates to me
Partial things, my friend

Ben tends to shake
Superfluous things from the tips
Of his fingers, this car

Things like an immaculate
Animal at the far
End of 16th Street, for

My ear has its own crass
Manner of making phantoms
Of beauty into

Familiar symbols, I say the earth
Is not unfriendly, the end is not always
Deadly, when the desert

Closes one in
Its alien
Throat and discloses

Its whispery valence, the sun
Leaves his perfect
Shadows strewn like capes

Upon the dazzling
Promiscuities of America, I read
That on the side of bus

Bisecting Park Avenue as the song
Sang men make sense
When they prevail, I make

The bed, turn on
The light over the turtle’s
Head, just catch the 6

Uptown, tonight I will register
The pornographic
Constellating of smog-woozy

Stars, but here the man
Daydreams with his fading tattoos
Peeking from beneath white

Sleeves and a previous
Occupant has left a crossword
For me to complete, pen

Jabbing my thigh, my thought
Distracted by its asymptotic
Approach to reality, we are never

Quiet, never quite
Free from the hallucinations
Of meaning, the feather

In the hat of the woman is not even
The limit of her
Body and as it stirs within

The passersby, I say to myself I
Have made your body
Hurt, the weather says hope

I get the wind right
This time, Hiroyuki Doi says suppose
Every creature is a circle that exists

In this world, how many of them can I draw?

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