Snow is irrational
and the rare song above the snow insane.

Every tree is a personality:

Could Darwin instruct those turtles? Pixilated pin-dick tax
taste—comforting mannikins
atmosphere, he also enjoys an occasional highball: wanna see my

New York, mire.
New York, wire and death.
What angel is hidden in your cheek?

And I, on the roof’s edge,
what a burning angel I look for and am!

Dawn arrives and no one receives it in his mouth
because morning and hope are impossible there.

But I will go to the first landscape
of shocks, fluids and murmurs

The genuine pain that keeps everything awake
is a tiny, infinite burn
on the innocent eyes of other systems.

Inaudible consonant inaudible vowel
The word continues to fall
                                      in splendor around us

Between the freeway
               and the gray conning towers
of the ballpark, miles

Do you still know these early leaves, trans-
lucent, shining, spreading on their branches
like green flames?