wish the snow was headlike, shaped in all of water’s dreams.
if you stand on your couch and portals form between the space your head touches and that shadows make out to be the edge of the room–a border, say–does that make the ground a piece of inhabitance or the hat you’re wearing imaginary since it’s a job description and also something people post about themselves when there’s little occupying their fingers?
and what makes the border of a room?
all i’ve got is questions and this ring pop. mt imagination made of paper and pistols of mistyping. the sound loud in an ear when water drains and to regain balance then. my friends are birding the telephone noise. a new type of ink for your hair to settle down with and make a furlough, a future.
and what separates the room from ebbing?
such-like-noises are similar to light as we witness its decay. listen to the radio for ancillary motives. if you can, say anything once this is all over. but it doesn’t come to that. rush and rush and bristle.
four hours of laundering and all the money comes
back to a pocket singing of its handlers
so it went with a new year
and we were blessed and blowsy in our new threads
weather always threatened to break
the calf in its field worried away the grass with its cute
face–distant noises of what would press against
its older head
but this purpose you speak of, this coupling
and trick of light
we bury our heads with frightening sounds
our finger blinds open slowly.
two ducks flap
over each ear
where the cows are
my house is not
a furrowed thing
Today is the cold. And a few days ago a friend had a dream that I died.
Today I thought maybe that’s already happened. And things are good.
Today is the cold. And tomorrow is the day when no one gets fired.
Today I thought maybe hats are ready vapid. Anhinga for roods.
Tomorrow I will walk to the station with my back planter
and you will get up on top of a balloon somehow with the cameras
all pointing down and away from this spectacle. The news
will shine like new candy wrappers and no one will get caught
in a storm. Today is the cold. In north of here it beats people
into their homes more and here it does that, too. The dogs are leading
their owners. Their owners are carrying bags in their hands–
some for the trash, some to bring home. The dogs are home anywhere
so long as there’s food. Tomorrow everyone will wake up hungry.
Tomorrow for dogs on loan from the schools. And the Today show.
Today is the cold.