What are these ups and downs of
Seesaw being
This is no
Good world
I am not good
Or good in
Or good at
But i go on
Wanting
And i in sight of
Love
Panic
That it can be
Deserved
Or earned
The giving gets mixed up
In the gain
The rainstorm
Delivers both water
And Drought
Alone I discover no difference
Between recollection
And hope
Of a warm
Embrace
Having been
Let go
I fall
And the place I travel
Tomorrow will be
Out from these old
Same
Doors
Like a ghost
Without expectation
Of arrival
I have been
Sent
? will
Deliver me

Fishtanks over apples
Are her eyes and cheeks
And a little knife flashes
In her voice
That I might like to hold

Bird hole dust flap
Older than Christ
Antediluvian fossils
Of a dirt bath

These tiny pains

Or the sound like the crocodile clock

Of blood in my ears

Lend nagging doubt to the certainty

Of my immortality

Kiss

When I was a child

I couldn't sleep

For the roar

Of my own pulse

And now can't sleep

For the silence 

Rejected cockerel

Sneeze sand?
Baked wildebeest.
Lizard bone?
Tithe.
Witchcraft.
Honey.

can tomorrow be assured
 yesterday I ran
sat upon by giants long ago
still wary of feet
it is a wonder
the lips and eyes
of strangers
 and they wondering at
                                      what

to meet is unlikely
 always
              accept

what is it to know

or to be in one time: 

neither waiting

nor remembering

to ask and to do

Raining July 4 8:30pm

like mites we are traversing the cast off snakeskin of I-95 
appear ascending from dust grey streets                                
to burst above low square row roofs                                    
like the after-image of paper mulberries                          
and the ash indistinguishable from steel grey sky       
who launches these in a rainy evening
to marry firecracker pops with thunder moans
acts of love at the end of days