the wire trap with the last of the breadballs.
he sang, tear it all apart, but love me.
release, for reasons we were made this way.
still tonguing the nontaste of the wafer.
I am grown and long gone out of that town.
I could foresee the wandering ahead.
am conjuring, let innocence answer.
A sand dollar broken into quarters.
An osprey climbing out of a spiral.
slinging lubricant from the pinion seal.
camouflaged until its wings are finished.
to that far surface is nowhere described.
across the leaden silver wave moiré.
every time, who he must go out and find.
the dry meadow across the road.
abundance to be this singing.
Oh that yes I had a thousand voices.
Talk radio strays from rusty pickups.
knowing, big ones down below. He goes there.