These are those same trees you saw six months ago.
I’ve drawn them in a way that will explain
Not only their nature, but the nature of snow,

One only needs to give the ocean some thought and it becomes describable as a street of houses:

Expressing hope we might in time come back
To have our teeth pulled and enjoy the rack.

So all this talk, since Whistler,
about the primacy and purity of
Form is balderdash.

Like antelope bounding across
the wide lawns of Africa
are these flames that leap

Half a summerhouse
half a pound of butter
half a child.

It was a perfectly
normal day.
We were agreeable

You swing yourself
from hour
to hour.

Husbands
fill up
the whole world

The grass is full of codes.
The signs are everywhere:
used condom, apple core, a baby’s sock.