where lines meet a corner delivers the notion of
outside
it was a gun – a day – an ana baba gun day
because of some beastly dissertation to connect
to break down signs that do not
at the same time help build
rehab retail or retail
simulations
prudence
theory we all are
formerly broken amado mio
they left we stayed
facing dawn to salute its jet black
dawn thought reversed in the heart
no intelligence could ever make up for
looking and touching meanwhile
my lens against your compassion
red tile green what sight
so many pieces the color of self
l’histoire de retrouvailles
tools – tool – chest – at
irregular beats
your voice your heart all the same
faster than before abd abd
I cried for you “if it weren’t
for art weren’t
for them
undone folks” I said but then and now the poison
the profiling of slave is what cannot be
things like that don’t happen my dearest
comfort one little voice septic and inchoate
choosing personal for public suddenly
last Spring inside my grit
seared and scrubbed voluble parsnip
my grit a bridge labeled artifice
ana baba family & relatives
all
boring into and getting used to
a yes and no for what quails amado
a nation under passage and outcome
unfinished but recognized for slave
cries are better undone some
things are
a type of interrogation or informant
curves and raids my grit against
how 29 turns to 11 turns to two
eat air gravel stone they said
then I abandoned you for exile
the road gunlar ve gunlar long
call it walk-way goal passage
a song of huzun painted on each side
to demystify what happened perhaps
right and wrong because of it
prayer and a cloak that spells
bill me for the need
bruised promise
constant sound
political and banal
purpose
the beast on the moon is part moon
abd without much else
slave of a god
love taken for heart
what you are when you give up yours
for a public moon on the beast
still beast still an only
common recombing
remembering
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