XXII.

ancestral blood let
wonder woman
mitochondrial
might beating
the flood with
children that
pound the earth, first.

XXI.

I never fly in my dreams

Outright like a bird or superhero

I rink a dink rumble into the sky

In a miniature green airplane

Like a character in a cartoon.

XX.

Taking a break from writing

Results in a day of laboratory

Thinking. Testing the sound taste

And determining theoretic hypothetic

Rules to live by. It takes me a few tries

At the same experiment to dissolve

Down the sugar pills and get to the

Real. Medication like blessings,

Reaching inward through the spider

Tangles the seeping tree vines

Themed and labeled into sink jars. 

XIX.

What is the

exigence in the

floating circle of the

rhetoric chasms compounding the

inordinate amount of mashed words in the

sweet sour bucket of none sense that expresses me sometimes?

XVIII.

Sometimes

I am perfect

The spindle

of my machine

ticks like

meant- to- be

making material

to weave with.

Sometimes

I can sustain

All things like

a delta,

a bleeding river

of sweetened soil.

Sometimes

I am nothing

The tiny spaces

between atoms

expanding

until my matter

dwindles

to a few spots

of ember

And sometimes

I am everything

the wind, steam

and brick, raw

and domestic

the dirt and drapes

constant and

inconsistent

and everything

sometimes

is true.

XVII.

Looking back at old work

does not please me.

The gods in our bellies change

as they do their infinite studies.

Their understanding

widens like a mouth-

a canyon yawning into completion.

XVI.

how many prayers I put up
on a cluttered cork board
papers of words fluttering
like frantic wings pinned
until they resemble nothing
not my breath
not my close wish
just a thought,
detached and soaked
in melancholy.