COVER

in andante

Slow honey: a new ellipse.

Leaves are companionate

as a tinge of dirt tints what’s seen.

Dinosaurs went out of style,

& then we fell through windows

not of our own making, but different

than what our parents would

have wanted in former

lives. A holiday’s you

beguines with slovenly

odes to El Greco &

that painting I kissed when

you weren’t thinking of

anyone at all, but

rather bearing myself in-

to a new set of propositions

that even a city would

endorse for their properties &

one last living Dino

still raises his ace to love

with a drink in hand

as a holiday’s we is

an end of knowing

what art is for, once again.

Temperance plates a day

& no way is night

relished like peach

in a Buddha’s hand,

pure palpable peach &

in some world an emblem of

my feelings. What’s new?

A pop song marks out time &

soon falls off again toward

an infinite

making.

tangle

Held in bloom, a thing un-feels itself. What was once beautiful is now made of rope and salt, rope and bile. You want to reach out and tell your friend this: give yourself a second chance. But one thing is as good as another, for an other side to thing-hood is personhood, and not many speak of that. A glance in a mirror is made from yesterday’s clothes, not what was seen at first. Hand-me-downs allude to silk, and plaiting is un-velvet-ly pure. You reach in, and you find a second self, unhinged from death’s last grip.