It's Good To Get Outside

An island of desert.

Than of the sonnets scrambled, resounding.

Describe a city that disappears.

What is held in its place?

Old noises – the dust and distance of

We-Keep-It-Under.

And the slingshot of my sight

visits from dusk horizon

to dawn horizon.

Sometimes hearing is faster.

Desert Day Trip

The afternoon light:

brightness bathes us in too much for the eyes.

There's always something we ought to be doing,

but not much impetus to do now.

Amble toward the hills.

Climb a boulder.

Listen.

Back by the road

a tarantula wasp

skitters on the hunt.

The only evidence of human industry:

a tangle of rebar and concrete,

a rusted flatbed.

Why does discarded machinery

seem so much like death,

when we speak of the "living rock"

equally silent?

You don't need to say.

I know.

A Trip to the Capitol

If you tried to visit all the representations in the pairs passed of days, you saw that I absolutely made a mess of things.

The mess looks like adjustments of the host, to be cleaned from above, and I think that I have things I put to the right, at least by the time that is.

The work resides in an account, or a combination of nobodies.

There plows also times - in the pairs passed of days – when to be able to coil through, in any direction, begs questions. Hear representations of days.

An account, a definitive combination, a representation of nobodies, constitutes musical comedy work.

The work resides in pairs passed of days.