[4,2]

i fail in the retry of possible gaps

for the middle of canyons

in crumbling lights

for the scarification of vinyl.

it rides through the forest

and throbs a small packet

where parallel seams

scratch a readable surface

on the backs of the camels

in mirages of separate planes

to the bursting eclipse

of pronounceable service,

two spots on its forehead call out

for the country of doubling masses

on a highway that cuts into faces

in line for the city

every stream ties a knot

for an opening under the sea

i lose all my digits

to the moon that will one day be bare

to the parched piles of breathing in farms

to the doorways that promise a morning

on the accident prone to a murder of chance

every mouse in the dust in the kitchen

will harvest the cold

in the sickness of scattering twigs

in the answer of mirrors

for the double that sings with the night

by the prayer full of ashes

under frozen cadavers that once

were the hearts

in the egg of a wound

i disappear in the wrap-up

for invisible letters that leave all the snow

for the hunt to deliver migration

on the mushroom fields full of returns

under beaches in roads by a promise

where the water turns into a home

and the blame of the air will no longer wail

for the spot in the cloud full of planets

while a bubble reenters a womb

for explosions in placards

like the front of a bus

crossing vines in a prairie

that were traced on the skin of a goat

i look at the picture of too many races

for the blood of a horse

that a bundle of sleeping

3 shorted connections

for the change of electrical chairs

under pools of announcements

for the battling showers

that tell all the stories of war

to infants in sight of the corner of trading

for the telephones buried in answers

under barrooms and sawdust and piers

where the songs of an isthmus

circle the beacon

where the moon cannot pull

where a whisper

moves sand off a stone

i weigh every mote in my eye with the fingers of handshakes

they calibrate walks like the wheels of a car

they reflect in a wave

like untying the knot of a bruise full of ice

where once was a number

where the count was eleven

where equality lifts

like the dough

that incarcerates mud clots and showers

for the vanishing thorn

in a guide by the pillow

softly omitted

what the second hand sees

under gears by the hand of a cripple

for the ditch in a face that is fine

i bury my head in the leaves

that the buses were lost in

that day when i looked for her here in the Arctic

when the telephone poles were the marks of equators

when the mornings at home

could not write their own name

when the shepherd was singing too many shields

at the entrance of staring at stars in the basement

with the light in the chest of what follows

with a walking that pulls at two seals

for the trouble in words

in the empty

in the on and off one

why there have to be zeros

to raise all the shores

for piñatas to line themselves up in the snow

under spreading the phase

of recalling the crosshairs

on the hive

that the singing will never return

when the breaking gives others

a prompt to give air

i radio frequencies meant to undress all the parrots

in the knot that a hill on the head

of the viewer can see

without even a monkey to grow

with a molecule’s power

in a black hole instead of a screen

in identity swimming to surface

every outlook reframes on a break

in circular lots

by the parking spot full of directions

where a jacket sinks into the roll

of an orange in Fez

around trains in the mountains

that the pantomime echoes

in the valley of shells that call out

for an engine to answer

when penalties cease in the skull

of another score gone on the pavement

with the sound of a bell that is broken

to bear its first weight in the sand

Source: Counter Daemons (Litmus Press, 2006)