PAWOLES

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saint of a bubbling froth

which eyes die the free-wheeling smoke the cough the lick the inn-again stampeding through the night which legs clung to the chair whisked in the living room thunder and applause at the milking of cows which thirst made gaudy sounds …

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the fourth day chopt

exclusive rights to sunlight exacerbated an already inflated dilemma. in thirds, shadows of ferns collapsed. the minister madly scarred daylight. glass gourds which contained dates yet-to-come shattered. calendar, broken canister, breathing banister. ascend to nowhere, dying sun. waning face waxed, …

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now the road grows

nodding plotting sod flies mottled rising gases sunburst grace the space of shadow boxes talk bent unseen burst by babbling bodies speaking salmon-tempered cloud clutter dissolving imprints mouthing sunburn now the road grows

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fascinate me barren

this now is made of soft light divided by the circuits of sex & small roller beads of sweat simulating gesture   in the mirror I grow divots, lines of fence, seaweed squares swear and buckle   now dried violets …

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the furnace under the cooler

bread worn by the haystalks – hey there look out the friar’s desire is strong wares timeshares eggs everything draped dripping on sun church clock-tower’s exploding, craft cremated turn of hours,  dust tugged dully behind coat, curving rust does its way …

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