After midnight, lying in bed thinking of you,
I heard a squeal, and let the cigarette fall
From my fingers like a petal, as I watched the window open

When you pressed two rings,
the one larger than the other,
into my tongue, you crushed my hunger.

My enemy keeps
a bowl of anemones
on my bedside table

I want you to be waiting
outside your door
and squeal excitedly

I will build you a flag of how I know:
I am counting blackbirds as they fly away,
When you walk by,

A cup before coffee, a shell
  after the scrambled egg,
I am a big nothing

The notion of living entities in human shape, intelligent but not human: look upon it as an experiment conducted upon the stuff of being. Shall they be smaller than we? Bushier, perhaps? What impulses bring about these particular condensations? To what extent do the alien existences depend upon certain crystallizations of our own thought, perhaps upon our very words? Shall we postulate elves, speaking the word aloud so as to give life to a certain meaningful vibration?

It is nothing new
for horses to be harnessed to hemispheres
it has happened at intervals

Oh it’s Christmas time in Omaha Nebraska!
“Almost alive” red lips say through the panes.
His blue eye, his brown eye, his chipped ear.

I awake, three in the morning, sweating
from a dream of possums.
I put my head under the fuzzy swamp of cover.