Give me loops.
Give me turtles.

My books remain on the shelves as I left them last year
but all the words have died.

Hermes strapped the beautiful sandals onto his feet,
Immortal, made of gold, which bore him across the wet seas
And endless expanses of land as swift as the breath of the wind.

spring water
in a large low bowl
the carps’ gills

Humans are the animals
with speech who let all of his manuscripts
go poof.

50. When your refrigerator breaks,
51. It’s good to have a job

Inside the head there lives a lonely dog
It is drooling spit
digging through a mountain pile of garbage

three deer, large as memory objects.
They stood in a circle
as if they knew life was a game.

I’m a Keats bot
so are you

That summer I learned Biblical Hebrew
with Christian women heaving themselves
toward ministry one brick building at a time.