Lifting Something Ancient and Bigger Than Yourself: ten of the nineteen

Emperors wear tophats, guzzle high speed trains like

fishbones.

She always was running on streets made for cars,

beetle back sun behind trees, flitting light and gold.

Penguins have their secrets, too.

Burning fibres, you can’t take anymore weight than

this, you’re birthing yourself you strong chinned man

all day, and you think still unfinished

You dance with your apathetic partner, the turtles

meant something once, didn’t it? The forest pretends

a child, weeping, same bodies different bodies.

Pottery, the crab prays, depth & clarity; perforated

biscuits sit next to a decorative gun on the mantle, the gun is loaded and is still able to shoot, anything can be a boat.

Lanterns, electric cables, bearded men who drink

milk and orange juice, hanging laundry, a few more

chances a few more mistakes.

The curve of your nose. Centipede, a woman becoming look

at her buck teeth, look at her stacked rings

where, might I ask, is the room?

Ladders on bookshelves, peace. The highest tier on

the cake, asthmatic lungs on crane preened

shrubbery.

twin houses and yet there is no room for [a space]

yourself & your loves, a chicken or a fish, there is

not room here either (...either?)

Arrows docked behind walls, birds kiss the

ceremony officiant is what he eats. No words.