April 2012

The brain, like the earth, lies in layers.
Floaters dart and punch. I see the field.
My face stays numb. Keep your eye on the target.
Click the button when a light appears.
Last night I read “So little evidence is left
of what...

It hides its edges
in speed, it has
no edges. Plus every time
he thinks he knows

it close enough, can discriminate
centripetal force
from what gets sheared
straight off,

direction changes:
through stunned space the blade
snaps back,
turtles into its handle

and starts over spinning
the other way.
All along...

Midnight’s merely blue,
but me, me, me, I’m
through
and through
sloe, cracked soot-
on-a-boot,
nicotine spat, licorice whip.
You can scratch, scratch, scratch
but I stay underskin true
to ebony, ink, crowberry, pitch;
hoist me up by my hooves
and shake till...