Born of a sharpness, and set to music.

I like it when I’m looking
At a woman’s wrists
I like it when a woman likes to look at my wrists

It is a rugged island of much beauty.
I've just arrived,
rumpled in the harbor bar.

When snow soothes the view, it doesn’t pay to reason
with each shapely flake of its sinless topsoil.
Better admire the crystal’s moronic tolerance.

Sometimes when night turns me transparent
I want to lie on the dispassionate ground
and make of earth a gurney

Cut it way back.
Do not be afraid to pinch the first,
the only blossom. The berry cannot thrive

 We are separate and will separate more
our flock beds and bolsters, our porringers
and pot hooks, brought into homes wrought

The blue in beets
comes and goes
sometimes a shadow