Scene Three

Tautology knowingly whispered,
as if sacred text,
it were knew

Crawl Space and Shout the name
the museum is shut
door finger slicing action

nimble shelf tumbles to wonder
great tombstone sandwiches
corpses on
stage buses
to static

Empty now
pull or push handle to flush
gaining in the shadows
back lit cablecar
below deep in the pocket
a dirty penny
mind you as clear

top shelf
bottom rung miasma
lilt a stranger
some acme cigarette smoke
crawl across
lighting matches on the floor

envelop me
my crying shape

death envy


Scene Four

Legs
a sight circle collapsing

close up
brushing inner thigh
moist
taut
clown paint

I’ve got you now

chair
table
bed
mat

undone

the room is empty

from the advantage point
out the window
I thought
parachute gorilla tactic

limp and graceless
I caress the my mothers’ chair
her sitting place
wool hovering it like belly fluff

unstable the horse

fresh
mint
jelly

Grace was her name
all she had
I have none of

seeds a broadcasting
a furrowed brow
chin dipped
door tap adagio



Scene Five

get out of my mind

leave me alone
these voices charm
in a sick embrace

spew the toilet sit
slippery fall
chasing the floor of dirt

askance smelt
iron burnt shirt
my last clean one

go away

launch with a sparkling glow
hand above
waiting to touch

In the steep of night
lamentation and pathos
gather in isolation

in a clearing
the trees surround

the animals in the kitchen
swell from generic food packaging
teas and seas
an unaffected smile

welcome to nowhere tones
the back of the throat emits industrious gurgles

cementation
hangs on the air
akin to the known
unknown
moving so close
never quite touching

never hold me
or slip your hand darling
into mine

never wake me

never wake me

never wake me
in the morning....

set of winged creatures
lay their eggs
in my dead eyes

don't betray with a look
across the breakfast rubicon


Scene Six

Shooting at the Wall Ice Cream,
and donuts
Side to Side a strange wiggle

Her eye at night,
dark soft,
in panicked beauty.

There stillness shadows,
hit before landing.
A microphone stop charge;
feeding back the basement

Jack had paper,
broadsheet to the wind,
soppy umbralla

The next night the twins,
between the yelped

bring me your bradawl
smart a mark on the surface

the film of ponds pavement
delivers top rating

and stands to be gibberish

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