cdlxxxi. where it starts

the way one goes nowhere important. your voice is so vibrant, like a child’s, taking words for the playthings they are. from nowhere but the sky you see daily, the beginnings come circling like birds.

cdlxxvi. silent words

darting in the sun like needles of rain.

cdlxxi. poor speaker

i have a habit of mumbling. my tongue grows thick and i myself can hear how, from my mouth, one word emerges indistinctly into the next, like porridge poured onto another shapeless porridge.

cdli. stair

the stages of losing like holding onto water. the cold rushing by nearly waking. i couldn’t stay that way. that’s why i’ve gifted the breeze with nothing, with steps of air.

cdxlix. cf

i love your words more and more, the delight of similarities differently read, falling like cold but romantic nights. like quiet winds. you know their presence before you step outside.

cdxlv. learn to look beyond

real treasures must be peeled apart much the way you’d peel an onion: a layer at a time.

cdxxxviii. swaying

your hand in mine, a pendulum swinging, the world around us like a stopped clock.

cdxxvi. this war

predators don’t have regrets. memory does. predators, however, unfortunately, like their prey, have memory. i want to eat up all the histories of all of men and thereby set them free. but sometimes i suspect the selfish content of my motives.

cdxix. yousweetsexythangyou

i pierce you, my dick like a bayonet in your somnolent orifice, weary like me, hoping you pour out more for us to float on. you, the gondolier guiding me as i surround your venetian boat vessel.

cdvi. body pains after work

at night, i fly high over rows of rooftops bent like a sea of tents. my cobbled body stares back at me.