inside/outside

Lungs caught in blue.
breeze from water drip sing and fume the constant sway
As well the beetle. For deep inter-jointed life.
we pail the day the dreary look of two in one title scheme with headline
the meddlesome words in closure and repeat and reinvent.
the intamacy
she/I
The space between fingers is seldom worn.
the walking when less desirable is brisk and painted eyes they swarm and vent.

Press chin to throat.
play relaxing music in your head over and over until it becomes unbearable.
play very load music. Not in a volume sort of way but in its content.
watch patch of grass wither like spindle of leaves.
this watching for the time it takes to pass the air to the earth.
is like a flower.
she/I
The taking of words from the slanting roof you sleep bellow.
the rise and fall of wasting space

The lax of beard.
Catch button un-frayed and gleaming doubt of warm.
repair harness as clothing you shape and keep home this mirror.
clean out drawers with moths. Move across sheets of ice only with hands.
in pockets holding pens and Velcro shaped throne.
stay indoors as long as possible.
she/I
the calender of self doubt is shaved and porous to the skin.
it belts with laughter in the morning with all the dying day

The jellyfish here look like turtles. I assume. I have not seen either yet but when near the ocean I think all crazy. we took a car ferry to an island. then we drove to the other side. the beach was a haze of fog. I saw a cactus in Montana I wish they were here too. However, all I have seen were slugs. ones as long as small garden snakes. The fog from a peninsula far away moves quickly. we jump towards the ocean in our underpants. the world becomes a haze. the fog shelters us from the giant people. roaming the sand the sticks piled near the top of the coast. they seem euphoric from the distance. this makes us feel the same. When walking along the water it has receded. very thin layers brush the sand. if you focus only on the clouds in the reflection, it feels like your floating. we talk for a long time, like this while walking until we reach a flock of seagulls I run after them as if I am a small child who hasn’t yet realized how futile this may be. they fly up and around, away, and back. I had split the group into two separate groups and sort of felt bad. they watch me a little more closely the second time. I think that maybe they are more intelligent then I had hoped. that was my last attempt. I did not really want to catch one of them. I just wanted to see their wings together moving. so many together all at once. to see the effect that my arms and loud bird cackle may have. and frantic head shaking. small islands protrude and wrestle the tide. some times we walk to them and pretend that we’ll stay for a long time and sleep. maybe become stranded, or declare ourselves castaways. but we walk along them clumsily because of the slippery rocks. we find little green globs of sea-life. they have a name but I’ve already forgotten. they remind me of stress relieving implements that you squeeze for a long time in hopes for quiet.

underneath lake michigan

Sun beat sand sifts a fume
Stings the air
the bottoms of callused feet
from trees the branches
no reason no shape
young
the relenting swell
the body floating like acorns falling
in midair stopped
watching this way
remember the matted hair swam out
underwater holding in
counting to eight
head tilts a thin layer of
clear silent words wash the shoulders
breaking

carving letters in the taut
limbs to muscles to ears
stretching toes to hear them bend
the sound when muffled

passing over the hills

the bulb in my lamp suspended from my ceiling
was finicky was stumbling for air
could not breathe. It fell apart
it broke in two places
it caught the corner of my eye like a drop of rain
swallowed from the night sky it receded like the skin underneath unclipped nails
tender and pale
the creases in the fingers
passing over the hills
over the tree tops
into the cold horizon
the threading
of clockwork driven sun
rattling the joints of bones bending
holding
scraping air
we drink heavily with humid stager.
towards the window the plants will lean away

they are my only witness

their somber faces
drinking, belching
bathing in the vacuum of my breath
they walk away.
I watch them walk away
they live by the window
they through stones like secret messages