spell

i tried a write but
no moment comes, no intricate truths
or doughy love to conjure up,
no rhythmic swaths to qualify
and cross-examined dissects
to defy. rain my monday night
in fading dreams,
and crispy eves to slide through
interruptions croaking,
shuttered veins--
in breath my faces memories to shape
and saliva running down their necks. make leaves and brush aside,
blue jean eyes that make my future skin crawl
and my wrists tremble.
the reaped rewards of self-respect,
misted greens to brown in weeks
go by,
so i'll be twenty fourteen,
and sleeping nights to lie.

polis

who knew? that you, she said,
can get sick
 /w me to kill
too
the rainy sat.s
i watch run by in puddle drips
till things get dry--
or sick to die.
tonight, besides,
in shallow waters and lights--
i'll have flashbacks in front of these
weekday dreams, from when we
hit-the-bars-in-style like
quick flips through shiny magazines.

rushing before the fall of the morning,
edging glances to count the balance,
blue versus orange encroaching
on the borders of punctual and late, laid out clearly
like secrets of the night before
and like the transparent actions of
broken machines whose only motions
mimic the magic of a previous thousand times' returns

agnesi

golly touched my consumption
mister weakly leaves and falls off the branch
 to quote leather vests the devil's dance
cold movements the sheets
beneath the seeded green--
red paper flags,
the devil's dream