I came from life from living I arrived

Nowhere     in the midst of God     in the midst of God

God is a city      in which no one has ever lived

So quick were the men to agree to circumcision.
They all stumbled around the city for days.
Then my brothers killed them. Bless their rampaging 

sal               salt-torn and and split salzgeriss    rissen
the limbmap of me li lifted
ju juniper bud          risen salthead

he unsung me from sound scattered bright my red eye eyes unhooked now from the circle of cedar pine cedar silver the beetles went went silent then stonebite one bite burst the rhythm of the sky of a field of of air electric 

Who would have thought—too much simultaneity: 
The Swan Planters hovering above the windbeaten 
Statue of the Virgin Mary who casts her gaze down 

I swipe myself again in my rawest spot, my logical dyslexia. I cannot shape up 
            to formal reasoning any more than I can cope with the tax year.

As, many times, motive is inaccessible, must we get used to the art of the 
          plausible, and let live? And thrive as prats do on chat shows, toasting 
          each other in bat juice, and coasting?

Why such irony in re the mystical context when a graph of even the most commonplace exchange would appear perplexed; when we drop out from the plainest statement in the posture of a bat?

Because cemeteries are too pricey
I would like to be deposited on a public bench
and not in the earth

You must rock your pain in your arms
until it’s asleep, then leave it
in a darkened room