First Summer 

I think about sleep but there is none.

I hear a woman’s voice but there is no woman.

One plus one plus one equals a new one and only made possible by the work done making it.

We use binocular vision to see three dimensions and a third eye to see a fourth.

Our perspectives describe only the things selected.

There is no mistaking this for an anything-goes aesthetic, but instead it’s acknowledgement of the error
and weakness of finding one true thing that denies the truth of another.

We move all of your things from what is to be my room to what is to be yours and all my things from what
is to be your room to what is to be mine.

We carry the cubes on our heads.

Then the doors close and we have new love lamps all around us.

The old house is empty, except our bed is full of newspapers.

Why do we not give each other everything?

          Mood as Thing

We want to be good.

But the goodness is over now.

Who did we forget to invite?

We think of sky as mood and mood as sky as haze.

A truck is much more of a thing.

         Thing as Mood

We undo what we did yesterday.

The shapes want to be very exact but not the shapes of specific things we might recognize.

It’s like it’s a drawing of a diagram depicting a nighttime itch.

It’s a sweet, delicate poison to be at the poet’s table.