Mont America


Give me an address 
married in the snow. 
Bell-tram incantations
on the riverboat mind,
a song for boatpeople, 
a double sonnet for love, 
holding aprons you will not look bad. 
People know Sunday. Did I say I hear a symphony. 
I honey to blouses, won't catch a lion bird 
in den grown legs. Like a man I'm thinking 
like two movies at the same time, both classics 
in the American sense of the word. American
I am an animal, saw the sea and five seals surfacing
because it was today, cloud dementum, daylight
caulking from no place audible, and the garages 
I've parked in fields, errand dream: I have a windy
sister, a colliding mastery, this is my first in a series on 
longing. I will be here 'til next Tuesday / will answer
questions during the break. 

It was nothing if we were not ourselves 
when life was a study of mantels behind 
ears. A tender part of any story is a man in his 
backyard in the world after the fires. Like a meadow 
I am a little like a flower with a bothered throat, singing 
impressions of tomorrow today under the influence of nothing and 
Baudry, a trunk under new castles, catastrophe in the arbor, 
van's persimmon. Turn your face from the country, 
good posture in the mountain. Audrey a liar singing 
the terror of love between two people is a film I've seen before. 
A day unto itself a clean matter, allotment of ether. 
See my brothers making noise in their houses.

Taking things out of context     to form a party     the dog dishwasher
who makes a Gypsy's day     brighter than the sun     avenge   me   death
death, an opera     who makes it     there are two sides to any story
pity misplaced I will save you or die         yours is a bag of opera

Unmistaken star bring us back a bevy of things from the shore.
Poland for instance. Our collar bone, your California rights, 
two fattish men and a question.

See the blur chart: in a pod of seals I rolled the séance down the hill, 
said wind, open, run along to the store. Adequate sundries for 
albatross & air, parsnip: say I am the door, say not my body to the not future. 


Whether the earth 
Or the machines
I was the earth was
My wordless narrative
The infinite song
As much about 
American buildings 
As anything. Loadstars? 
I hate the little stickers 
That they put on all the 
Fruit, let me say it another 
Way, ruin the corporeal 
Undoing of certainty. No, 
Someone loves me, Boris Yeltsin.
Did anyone ever want 
To be an island with him? 
I'm looking for my artificial tears.
Arrivals from the country 
There is more rock below
Heroes are hard to find.


What important was
when I landed the field
someone comes to the door
from Texas. No, let me 
come to you, he left a print on me. 
It's not that TV is going away, 
it's that we think of it differently 

The salt roof, September
nurse, she said ready 
and I did the baby out. 
Unlikely we gave it linens

Fancy be clovered beds
capsizing knapsack days, I do, 
how I hope you are pulled over
between the sitcom and the moon.
If I see a smaller cart I will take it

Romantic concerns
things to do with breasts: 
     open a marble factory in the woods 
     take a friend out for dinner 
     introduce yourself to a neighbor 
     buy milk, asparagus, change the oil 
     consider the lepers again

A woman with Cheetos on a busy street wipes her hands on her office dress party, whichever month you're reading this Christmas is coming


My king answers bull sand 
potato hands he drives to the water 
a sadder display of narrator washing 
gold stars eyeing the ether at night. 

It was the desert that did it for me, a sea of tumbled 
dishes parading in the sun. Now that I'm not sure 
is it all right if I stand here and listen to nobody? 
Goodnight nobody, a bridge joking with rain. 
Wish that you were less of anyone's conflagration 
and more of a sweet treat falling from some 
corner of Texas. You never really had a beard. 

Ordinary with money and whatever
we buy with it. We used to buy rackets. 
Phones are back TV is dead so what 
if I want to be in bed. He was like 
instruments. If I stood straight I could 
see him looking toward where 
I was or wasn't depending.

Everything comes from the finishing moon 
considering white, running the homesteads back
that is the country at night. In the middle of doorknob families
I am I am I am I am and I don't even know what comfort is.
If I fall down in the middle of the woods 
it will not be with a candelabra.