the body is awake wanting verbs.
knowing what it knows.
sleep at the gate.
surrendered sound is for children and animals for pity’s sake,
music is for animals.
cosmology is the human mind’s
perfect pitch. love is the worksong.
but listen, the body. wanting what it wants.
there is no reward for a proper explanation.
whomsoever would apprehend snow-fire sparkling
in the middle of the room: lay: touch.
i know, you didn’t see it there busy as you are.
i know: you can’t figure it out.
Let’s just say I was Moved
you come to me unprotected, your neck
bare your face carved clean
the miskempt, my own contempt
for a failure I know i
we squeeze you.
we tie your shoes
we find the way winding, come back
to you playing
in sand. pick you up