the sight collector

naturally occurs outside,
a box & a coin, the
phrase opposite, a
position or reason,
stand lateral the
instance, retrace the
movement, of the
same constants

*

eyes sink into sockets,
a value opens &
closes, because the
anode eroded

*

opposite the occasion, a
comma sliced in two

*

listening to layers, the
arriving at the surface

*

there are compliclarities
about the whole thing,
it’s difficult to see,
try a logic block, to
recapture reason

*

i hear sounds, metabolic
interpretations, joins &
tendons relationships

*

after a day, when rain
leaves marks on the windows
edge, prints of shape &
correspondence, maybe the
moon, the dogs licks her
bed, actions into manifestations

*

so suppose, i spelled
that wrong, comma
after the pen, send
a message down the
meridian, pass along
side, reach with extended
dorsal, not only does
this

*

lifted eye, of dropped
circumference, noted
between a 90° angle,
lesser of the two chairs,
exhale in, exhale out,
stapled to breath

*

of drifting regularities,
mapping the path, towards
remarkable inferences

*

opposed to the lateral, a
proposal on the medial,
one point to the
metacarpal

*

ventral, the co-lateral
development along the
triaxis of post-medial
view

*

the pilot drove over
to the left hand store,
reassured by the rising
costs, slept & walked
away

*

frozen in a trance of
inner perfection, looking
beyond the lost, listening
to the outer become inner,
a repeated silence

hello, how can i help you?

saturday arrives and lands on my
plate, two spoons, no fork, now
it’s monday & the cafeteria, a mess
of corporate bullshit/the others all
set aside, another way, flesh
toughened by urban construction,
a room without a clock, does it bother
you to be so still, watch as others eat,
food projected towards the face, a master
sample, texts that comply, respond,
listless & rotten, left the house an hour
early, unknown, listen to the tick
of clutter, walk away & the phone rings

fall (the scent of summer

there is dust on the typewriter,
scattered letters & no coherent
words, the dog lays a little to the
left & outside the sun speaks to
fallen leaves, to say as much
as a decent goodbye, frost &
bugs that live in the bark of
a half fallen tree cling to the last
scent of summer, a spider crawls
down the street on two legs & as
the rain begins to fall, windows
leave marks on the floor & a carton
of milk stands two weeks old

reading into stories

outside the inscription, scattered pieces,
a lost mark, a bruise on the right hand side,
some disagree, others don’t,
though when they walk into a room,
lamp shades talk about dust
& a scratch on the floor remembers the feel of skin,
but as a leaf runs across the street, yellow
appears & we know this,
a choice between nights that folds sheets
of rain into paper & a gust of wind that blows
cool air under our tongues &
the feel of each strand of hair