Opennes of Comets
The great waves of a tidal lake remain inaudible beneath contrasting bands of traffic
As it happens to be night
Incarnadine petals grow from the throat of a slaughtered hen
In utopia-chant of yard dogs
What I have brought in from the kitchen
The clank of keys, pull of clothes against stiff fur, each rarefied pulse of attention
The sky carves tallies in the backboards of their eyes
The great drill begins to quiver
The grass to pierce the palm, as moss grows
Someone continues to live there, in the fault between l• and s•ight (e•vision; re•vision)