windows, fit together
at the joints except for
your face which is a mirror.

Now that we have ordered well may we turn back
upon suffering; after the fixed moments and precision,
to seek comfort in release. Peace being with us,

My sponge
fresh out of her cellophane
A starlet, unintroduced to my kitchen’s ways

Calmly clouded Tuesday.
The chateau is closed.
Nothing glitters.

A child walks by,
clutching in its small hand 
the blueprint of happiness. 

I wish my head to appear perfectly round 
and since the canvas should be of epic dimensions, 
please trace the circle with a frisbee, 

ou never get to play it, the rackets
Are always missing or else the net’s dissolved
During the winter, and there are mole holes

My Dalmation yearns to speak to me this morning.
She is more-than-elegant in her sleek musculature—
demure, nubile, oddly cat-like before breakfast.

I

they have no gathering places
        for taking of council nor
agreements

I with parchment eyes and anger
am showing you small creature child
this ocean the color of intense sky