summer night

moth dive, 

drunk window-shopping for

divine light (violently)

reckless asymptote of

smashing against 

plastic. 

to think, you 

are notre dame's

tracery

a rose through

which heliocentricity

idealizes wingdust

by intersecting pale 

arc remnants

and patterns

known. 

new ecclesiastes:

don't let i's float to long,

they'll turn into f's.

immediacy is 200-proof,

etc. is everything after

(you won't remember).

you can read physics textbooks, but

a car wreck bleeds poetry.

live like the loom might slip, breaking

day(over) + night(under).

interior and exterior rennovation.

in 4th grade, we wove on

small looms while Ms. Baker

read a story where a

fast-food restaurant

became sit-down. the most

beautiful was one i made out

of scraps of discarded

yarn.

maybe i will die in a

fiery crash, if the pieces fit

just right, and you will

envy my name in newsprint,

sewed next to an add for

razors.

a new patch can't mend

old clothes.

but what if threadbare cloth

fills between the punctuations

of life and death?

i don't want to fail.

maybe as many places as

i've lived i will have beautiful

colors.

honey in my cup.

earth's thin shell

hides what's

inside, while

my mind slices tonight's

silvery stars

from the morning

light, like bread.

"distance has no

way" but around,

easttowest

"of making love

understandable"

and circumference

isn't fertility, yet

i'm living 112 degrees

in the future

as if drinking

sweet wine.

my teeth feel

thin that

they clenched themselves

instead

and my tongue will

stand

to you anyway,

what's the taste of

mint to

a day indoors?

rustling leaves

wait

for dry essence

to steep:

taste the

restlessness

from the water.

i've no need for

bitter ends,

minutes can't be

wasted, only filled.

open your cupboards,

lets drink time

and talk about what

we know,

the table becomes like

forever,

and everything's

inside, warm.

the map i made

two cities kiss

on the plastic fold-

down table

and the crease (

a sort of non-string)

of perpendicularity.

an airplane seems a cheap

place to have an

epiphany,

maybe (yet) tension of

two places makes

moment apt to be

plucked

or steel's fragility

is heard in

pickups/jetengines

spun:

i'm an arc

or wave

but more, folded paper