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Literature Text
if death is a sentence,
let mine be
worth reading slowly
in the early morning
and bring to your heart,
my dear,
the ebb and swell
of the sea
let mine be
worth reading slowly
in the early morning
and bring to your heart,
my dear,
the ebb and swell
of the sea
Literature
the lesson
Following the last communique
of any order
of anything,
we'll not find a posteriori death
no grand apocalypse
carried off in bits by ants
or hurtling beside us
like dark matter twins
nestled in our bullet blue capsules
fighting us for singular dimension.
Under stones, behind the clouds
sleeping in fire, circling in bodies
we'll turn over nothing in nothing
that doesn't lead the way to these:
Pioneering blossoms
of my judas tree;
unabashed
unrepentant
Mexican pink.
Literature
workshop
The hearth in your denim pocket,
quietus and earthen floor
windows settle nostalgic dust
and hold outcroppings through their pores:
maps, manuals, flightless single wings
awaiting consequence, a bloodless chore
in the future you have willed the world
for those of us who still remain
workless as the dead.
Literature
The Dead
I have chemical wakefulness,
10 dollars and 27 cents hidden last night,
somewhere around the apartment, maybe in the couch
or behind the drywall. The red stiff pillows are on the carpet,
my chest was stuffed with vibrations and tapered:
It's not in the kitchen. Not in our bedroom,
but you have forty dollars in your wallet.
Your body's in airspace. Maybe you had dinner,
your parents' favorite restaurant,
or called Richard while you smoked in the parking lot,
talking:
feather hymns, exosongs, traffic tones,
a late ride home, long straight roads, flaking paint,
creaking sway, bitter drip, dragging lights,
dark skin,
a choking fit,
his
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what comes in the morning.
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Comments16
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8 liners are your strong side 
I love your short ones!
I love your short ones!