On this dry prepared path walk heavy feet.
This is not "dinner music." This is a power structure.
Cloud fields change into furniture
furniture metamorphizes into fields
an emphasis falls on reality.
Since I've decided to revolutionize my life
Grass grew long in the story.
Pieces clung to bedclothes. In the night he believed he grew taller.
At sunset from the top of the stair watching
the castle mallets wrenched from their socket
fell from ambush into flame flew into hiding;
In the past we listened to photographs. They heard our voice speak.
Alive, active. What had been distance was memory. Dusk came,
Pushed us forward, emptying the laboratory each night undisturbed by
Unreasonable lenses refract the
sensitive rabbit holes, mole dwellings and snake
climes where twist burrow and sneeze
a native species
"painting has no air . . ."
That there should never be air
in a picture surprises me.