(1) The view from here
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pursuit
write a last will: there are breadcrumbs to be left under the topaz blue of the oversized sofa, that passed from one lover to another a chain of grievances and fur from new pets there are old leather volumes in the nook claimed by siblings living just above the hole
evaporation/condensation
It seems to come to me only when I am quite far from it - that is, when the chances of my trying to tame it are next to nothing - so that what I am left with is trails - just scratches on a surface, jitters of a tight
original sense
I've loved you like a conqueror now I want to learn to love you like smoke wafting up into a room full of fog like a log in a fire, surface by slow flaking surface into a new and energetic form I want to learn to do the work of
buckwheat
the stack is in the batter - go in with broad bread hook holding on the left, giving on the right carbon form of flagrant rite - clamoring, harboring freight train harmonies - monotone, polychrome - late clattering of argument cups, starch, and cloth go once, come go back and