Provide a picture of your habitat.
An amble in pennyroyal,
Catchweed, cusp of sleep. Kitchen
Or highway. Floodlit
And combustible agriculture.
Mornings in thrall, evenings
Handled by other eyes. A playroom
Floor, quiet house. The poverty
Of our credo, ax handle, civil. One
Can hear scratching of locusts in their eggs
At the edge of the lake. The apostate is
Memorysick, rouge on his pillow.
At the edge of slumber one can sense
The edge of a lake. We are not safe here.
It is Not What I Have but I Bring It
On our backs in pine
needles with dirty feet and
whale pleasures I swear
endlessly inside; with
affection with one of
God’s hairs; mandate
brazen. To choose the
color of the bikeshed.
Who stands outside
hears rummaging within.
around a child. How much
colder can it get and still
sway and purse and touch.
Define properties (invisible).
There are your offhands
and ill-rehearsed when the timbre
of faces scatter
Night withdraws its kettledrums
of lips and skin when loss
finds you after pitch, the resin