is so big. Eyelash in the salad. Aldebaran
light-years to the right
of the margaritas.
Five hundred thousand
new “jobless claims.” Quotes. Was Bonaparte a fool
or a genius? Yes.
Rates of currency exchange, thermal exchange,
chromosomal exchange. I begin
to fill up, as if I’m a glass
and the world is water, is rain
is storm. Backfire
I think is gunfire and gunfire
I’m sure is close.
The feeling that mysticism
is the only way to be polite, that the stick
fetches the dog. While I was masturbating,
disappeared. The feeling the sun is saying
The feeling it’s impossible
to know what to do. So there I was:
for a greensudden spring.
dialing by congresswoman, blushing,
hanging up, redialing,
to gestures, walking right up to the sky
and asking it please
pushing the boulder the pie-chart the petition
up the mountain. Save the whales,
the me. When I thought of life
as climbing the shadow of a tree,
When I thought of life
as a race between words
for empty and words for full,
I was at the end of this poem.