Fig.10- Embrace

Colossal Squid

Gravity

A Perfect Cirle, Thirteenth Step

The Village

It’s snowing out and so I duck in to
this café of enormous glass and refuge,

it’s counterpart to the world, walking arm
in arm with the murderous and abandoned,

ask for spare change, for beer, a cigarette.
I stir a spoon of brightness in my coffee.

No other religion is as filled with beautiful
women as is the closed eye of my cup.

Or isolated by bars where hands press the four
walls for a crack, recess of smooth

enough for fingers to add up the crease
of falling snow. I feel really bad

for the frozen contents of the snow
covered garbage bags, the melting

sweat of the dumpster. My hot cup, glass
my new world with no writing home.

I feel like a telephone of sorts where I
can reach out but don’t really have to respond.

Interpreter

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The day knows all day
that I know nothing about math

in the festering waters
the frogs are decreasing every year

in numbers, the dogs that eat them
squashed off the road

vomit yellow foam that mixes
with the rainbow of oil

on the wet road. The numbers
go on flexing their branches

in the wind. Cat looks on
with stony eyes while

the windows subtract light
and the paper is delivered

to read of heresies. The knife
is whet with an ignorant stone

the edge is a chaos of zeros
falling into themselves.

One care speaks of hemorrhage,
choking out exegesis

smoke on wet asphalt one less
the number reached,

today in the news so many arcs
of light bombard the brain

with their deaths.













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