9

On my way to becoming a tornado

I say, "equally empty," my mind

resting on a fluted thought

my love for you is a city

of atoms in trespass of a flower

Nature requires vedic moments

a day of aerial threats, balsam

half a clamor, but it goes

just like Mars, but not vicious

in tuesday's canyon, low and light

the salesman arrives tearfully

a trilogy of air seeps

from the perianth, black

on him who made it

8 (union)

What is undone by the ungreen river

and are those strands

rain, or the ray's absence

winnowed, left for me to find

the water keeps us

it's what I offer, my being

a cowboy, a doorway

the ground is littered with houses

trees, sawblades, the heads

of seahorses

lean close, in case

the angling light grants us visions

a dream of the sun

gone to greet the sea like the creature it is

7

I want to be a Japanese fisherman

one hull per trip, a frantic

abalone, she tells me

crows and monkeys love peaches.

I work on every thing at once

the sky makes the earth quiet--

that's our fear imploding--

a kicked-on generator, his head inside

bitten in the black like

a bag of glass eels

offering an Indian word, father

and I chatting in the tunnel's

limit. This on America, an island

6

Violence: where is that man
the round sash of the future
in a wash of September spearmint
pulsing toward supine city love
in canticles, the sound of opals
and bunts against the shift.
The curtains rumble, so soft.
Now I remember my dream, the drool
an epicycle, halogen crust
breaking into books. Now I know
the spiral demesne, the
movement, wrens pooling
everyday into their cave

5

Anger: the wire that is

knocking in the night

yellow sounds appear, no glass

and ponds, hissing plants

the bridge's dirge, fallow

smudge, I leave the car, next

chapter. Do you have a rope,

a cigar burns the blimp's threads

for money, a fulcrum

the stove creaks, it is a breath

doubling towards a dream

the cat tilts the chair

whose inflowing thoughts have ended

4

The sun is loafing in antarctic tents

still so far

from the very next star

the small Greek man walks South

denies that they are distant

they are rising, realized, equal, an

ellipse, their hulls always

disappear--why no one thought

the imperfections were mountains

they couldn't bring back

like a deer in face and bearing

I sensed each second of the year

and it hurt, so I spit

3

Great chins of rock drip,

a Tulsan slept in Tulsa.

There was a beautiful noise in terrible Chrysa

the city beneath my brain

a chemical ripens

appearing, awn-like

a basket of steam in the Everglades.

Darkness is only a function of sleep

my trickled heart drops through dreams

selected by flowers he disappears

a weed to remain worldless

This is his last body.