Awakening from its ancient sleep…

—not sullen in desire—
now voracious digging.

Much covered to dig up.

Rice-fragile as eyelid stroke.

Car bomb says Hello killing many.

Fill up in what's left over—
to uncleave, blow up and out,
plump. Sentiment in the wake of—
Sentiment of wind-blown.

Stroke, now, using one's own hand
on one's own chest.

The trees did nothing wrong.
Sound of timber quaking over—
how it is to split unabridged.

The party is tonight—our leathers and off textures to unmatch.

Carpets of sunlight.

Is it God or is it luck?

Is it a city or is it God?





Originally published in Candy, a limited edition Albion Books chapbook (2011). Reprinted with the permission of the author. All rights reserved.