from Flashes
A light
goes
off a spark plug
Acting out.
Says:
Three shot
shots to three men on Friday evening
Shot under
umbrella of steel signage: CHANCE.
Says during
garden-time hose slid over face emerging green wetting everything.
Imagine tipping
inside brain coming like a serpent to the royal pretend station
the dial
beneath your thin finger pads
I’m walking
this backwards let’s start again operating by a
pendulum that is now see-sawed one way despite gravity.
Write
everything you mean she confesses
but don’t
struggle with the last line because I don’t know what’s being said
but there is
struggle like joining the museum line, warm air,
holiday
people what’s behind the white door.
*
Naked
bodies stacked a twister game of sorts with young ones saying I don’t
know
I
don’t know can’t we say who’s in charge place the charge, point. I
don’t know flip a channel woman with treated hair in camouflage a beach
setting possible water creeping up a toe bellows in green to begin
jumping jacks raise hands high smack like sisters team reamed from some
sky pocket or ocean burrow.
*
He
defines marsh
I
define
He
defines fishing is what he likes
He
definitely said his wife likes bird
watching.
We
the people like a real kind of person talk.
*
The phone a vehicle attached to the hand says in a voice you didn’t see
the
screen
The
Shepherd mauled the man.
Clue
one
German
Shephard, man
Blood
on both.
And
now this sets us back indefinitely I mean forget about it you better
get in your car and drive the middle American route that’s all that
you’re invited to.
*
The
want of beauty a flying thing that waits in the gauze of some tree limb
and then you got it, whamp. But now in a fist it’s a thing, it’s had,
breath gives you skin rash and redness. Is it for the thing or
the
desire. It’s unclear what we all want, yes.
*
Heading
out tunes blared done
in filming
Written
word solidifies.
Image
2
Man
on knees.
The
prayer the mourn the sacrifice in one stoop.
*
Watch
a lot of air collapse onto the screen museum
noise color blurb I want
the human connection so I turned it on I turned on eleven o’clock week
nights can’t connect with red liquid in the jar the black material asks
for weight.
Kneeling.
*
It was only thunder
reminding me of three shots bringing to windows thickly hung with
crimson silk drapes only then the hand tore one away and looked to sky
to straight ahead other windows where fizzing light to new table of
neighbor’s wicker, and abundances of green, rained on green festering
tangling up the fences the heavy cat triggers its fall falling toward
the plants that decided to make it through time.
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