it’s these entrails of elsewhere admit me an “I”: spearmint,
a moment of tongue, enthralled;
fresh-cut grass, flirting
openly snakey the nostrils; a dewdrop, to disappear coeval of
into tinges of vinho verde & miller
high life, & all their ferny mustard-light offerings are & stinks peace.
--& now I am become a cornucopia of worlds.
“then am I / a happy fly”
earth as moment, as capsule encapsulate.
I’m walking across the castlegrey apartment lot
to fling empties into the bin as if a toast to
our planet when I realize, then & there, I promise
to let my teeth rot out my skull in tribute.
of that honeyed air
that around the pear boughs twines
& twists also myself into a Jolly Rancher
wrapper of the sour-apple variety, & hardly do I know
“I” by sight, save by these rough sketches of
from a wilderness in which
the “I” cannot exist. it comes as “oozy woods,” as
tourniquet thereof, filled with daffodils--the most withered
of which I swish then spit
like mouthwash into a red robinbreast’s gullet, hoping
the resulting gravy rehydrates
modernism’s wilted eye with the grace of a wink.
anything & everything that breaks
a binary is the bone I want to be chewing on