i.
at the far end of a cul-de-sac,
an intersection

ii.
coiled back into the penumbra of reason
light fingers night deeper into heaven
slopes of fruitless sleep elope in phosphorescent splendour

the tongue abundant in the softened mouth, the drool in repose
the unlocked jaw in the pool of one’s own longing
stains the blushed cheek in abandon

some more of the same please, trembles the [ ]

but the flesh exhausts the bones to vapour

iii.
The line rings:
A limb extends to encounter the cold swarm of the world
This is not a valid interior. Please try again.
Tone

iv.
To set face towards the unavoidable scrutiny of day
the hesitant eye evokes an image
some semblance of figure to enter the air

v.
On the stroll from door and back:
used napkins and condoms
a plastic ziplock bag to move pills around in
a crashed lollipop, a bitten apple
and vomit on a diplomat’s porch

vi.
As if an unspoken premonition of finality had run through the city simultaneously,
all rushed into the night in perfect agony for postponed completion.

Now the haze of mellow morning
lessons new idioms in constant present tense

vii.
Somewhere, a liver hurts

What cruelties are we after?

viii.
Pursuit of further permissions
deems speech ceremonial
currency of outdated convention

[ ]s, superluminal
dip in and out of each other
merge and separate at will
rendering syntax useless

No matter

still the body responds
terrifically dumbfounded

ix.
Elsewhere things need to get done

x.
toothpaste
fruit of whatever’s in season
surface detergent
eggs
deodorant
screws for the laser-cut restraint
payments for light, water
doctor’s appointment (maybe I’ll walk)

xi.
Later by the window, a flower smell of litter:

"(…) story with a similar scenario. Her milkman, of whom she was fond, had once asked her if she ever thought of marrying. She said, 'Of course, ... it's brought to your attention from time to time.' And when he asked if she didn't approve of marriage, she said, 'Why certainly...It's the proper thing for everyone -- but me.'
'Well, you're a writer,' said the milkman. 'You wouldn't need much, would you, but a desk and a certain amount of quiet?'
'I wouldn't need even that Mr. X, you don't marry for practical reasons but for impractical reasons.'"

Bullets of whipped cream

xii.
glacier scoop
of early evening

the mind breaks on its shore

xiii.
ear on the
ground

the ground rules:

I, for once, the perpetrator

hail a sip of torrid ready
to fade in the remotest whip
of your intellect
to tread softly on the our
and in lucid space
hand over the handle
surrender to the grip’s pull and impetus
the rhythmic pulse
of language received
breathe the breath to be drawn down there
the air to wither without
the long phonal yes waning to
pathetic whimper
sigh of more moor yearning
fura fura
unpicked cherry of pilloowed cream
lipittyclick
leather fiddle jam jam
applecrumbrûlée rain inane
dumb fool of your competence

moananoaning

my peach punch marker

my felt tip joy