might this talking tall hat balled and neat, keep clean and sweet.

half worn in beds with caps on posts the back of summer’s claps.

sheaths instead broken locks melted inside campers closet knocks.

calm in wagon wheels of some beyond a lamp the same ideas belong.

light cast visceral tiny shapes played out like giant friends in capes.

passed by cottage streams for show milking lifts on cancer’s row.

fans of clans beat down the whole, buttering hot bread to sooth the mold.

ghosts by the corner jails with stripes brought up to the teachers on phones at night.

sitting bells of waves of sound beautifully somber deep deep into town.

drips of all candles folded on quilts flickering splatters on gardners tools.

tripped up alas, by sweeping soft shoes.

sweets of old fish oil seem less amusing to brand new adults.

when will another one tongue slash a thought.

by girl this crush, these divine.

by boy this cushion, leave it behind.