the alarum of the bell won’t be still we hear about the war, but the actual bodies are not to be seen fountains howl like a baby as I get older, my gills grow lungs I want to breathe music whose call echoes in my left and, next, my right ear

A madman is selling stray cats in an open-air market for those that inhabit ancients cities where all goes undisturbed inside their walls. By traffic’s sleek melodies, he is led to a door which leads nowhere though he theorizes its threshold ma

if I button my eyes tightly enough if I inhale completely enough this heavenly body will flow from my lungs, follow along my arms its inhabitants will funnel through my fingers, blotting a blank page a spider descends on a silk tethered to a tre

covered in marmalade her head she’s the sweetest thing going I wondered if I had time for the finger           moving before morning sunshine coming in the window my fantasy here beneath the b

this morning I’m ready if you arebut did you hear the clams screaming on the mudflat yesterdaydid you hear the peacocks crying“what am I ready for?”there is no time but the one to be quickon this day nineteen seventy four bee ceeon