Loving that man was a way of hating God:
useless, and no sense of privacy.
The fates fell, like cats tumbling

Reading? Morning.
Reading morning and a sky like the olive.
Reading the morning in sandals sifting through soot.

   Love, we who ply forked tongues to speak
            Note what critique
            Kelp, cork, and shell

I breathe the noxious air because it is there 
Set free at the last moment 
                                                           a green cloth folds 

Here the noiseless mind
Is like a quiet wind

You flop down into the personal
Like a triumph of years standing on end

Like the stars
I’ve been wandering alot

A paper chair

The weight falls downward of its own volition
Bringing to the ground its iron embrace

So gay on your lovely head 
The hat cradles the specialty 
Of the house brand-new 

I was thinking where are we all going when we were 
Going through the snow on the ground, underbrush 
Beneath like the New England personality going