a declarative opening – eleven on the middle. and late

this is how it happens


a declaration opens whatever window you are scattered into
and you want the thrum to turn sideways and lay down, all the ways
that can mean hello and it’s time for the cats to have their birthday

fewer things are hollow in triplicate, but beneath this sun
we manage our cabinetry and our vested interests, we contain
remnants of the cloth bitten fingers of those who made our lives

so luminous. I am not saying that we are what lights, but the lights
go on and on out there and we’re rasterized among them. take this
street and blow it up in transfer. take the lead pole position in the way

through one dimension and into this polite and absent body
we are traversing. call it your favorite time to sneeze and blast
the air away. there are actions and then there are the concerts

of pinning that follow those actions and this street beckons
a begotten. or it flimsies the way between signs – complete window
dressing, where are your lovely hands and how can you be a hammer

if there’s nothing there to swing with?


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