but something already gone glitters
so this soft pen now tries to lift
from the dream of a fish who is
determined to explore the dry
and those waves now gentle reach and
just here set a small movement in
motion that may more or less
resolve into something like melody
though even today as the winds
wild what survives seems sufficient
miracle to keep these sails tight
for a moment while I try to
gather a few parcels of silence
they say it’s worth more than gold
Tag: pen
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It’s the way though innit the muse leaves
and your mouth aches for more song, but
the veins are filled with foul air and
dust muscles do not move So what
do we wait like house cats why notas long as we’re in service we
must serve and hope the mistress one
day deigns to lay down a circle
of honey no, of course we’re notworthy but keep the pen handy and with
any luck we’ll find some lunch and
sell a few things and maybe tipthat dusty bottle from the snow-capped
shelf where the third expedition failed
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three kinds of salty licorice
a sweatshirt with an immense kitten
some more maple almond cashew
butter a disc of aged white tea
cardamom seeds in their own grindera multipack of Sugru a
Kaweco Lilliput fountain pen
click lick click but is it too late to pluck
the prized moon-blooming oh you’re back already—what did you say about the lack of laurels
in the breezy storage space—perhaps we
should look instead through an Olympic screenthat obscures high and low so the worm may
spare my stomach on a warm winter day
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what they whisper about his long beach walks counting
shells shattered pristine empty clam mussel razorthus we may inch closer to the secret of his
much lauded carrot cake muffin smoothie vape cartSometimes just the shine of a new pen the thin tic
picking up my glasses a cloud now and then anda few winter visitors Brant
Loons Mergansers and BuffleheadsThough the problem really began in my nose. It
was a warm, obvious sort of day and I askedwhere do they go and what do they hope to achieve
hiding behind the instruction to keep the eyeshut and use that special salve two times a day as
though the softness of her hands but keep the door locked
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what hope in this pen and an ink
nearly invisible
earlier the morning sun on
the trees made me think of
large mammals and their humid scent
in the sun in the grass
the countable galaxies of
bright dew and now the chair
makes sarcastic music of my
musing but the night is
still and so wide without a moon
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it should be more than cotton
candy though I lack
a recipe my hands have just
this tiny pen filled with
latency and the ladder is rottenhow many more nights
the sun bobs up and down
I look the other way that burning
you say it’s the weekend well why
not warp the mirror a little moreI can’t remember
why I entered this raceand I want to go to war with
each slender shadowmy feet must be cut from my shoes as soon
as the sun returns some color to those skulls
from under a rock hear me sing and walk on
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What solar-powered syntax will break through the city’s thick walls later wielding a heavy pen he stumbles never to blink again
But the pen won’t start so the precious possibility with a suitcase secretly packed disappears beyond the hill
Where the music comes from on those nights though despite his best attempts we left feeling as though we hadn’t eaten at all
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I lift the pen but why my eyes slide down this poison face
but the sound of a bird I can’t
the glow of the sun
sinking what
else can I sayI waited too long and they’re already cleaning up so I grab some trash and throw it away they tell me to keep moving
when I slept in the forest those long years between research grants
salad days between immunity and editing
people always said I gave up too easily and mostly through song for some reason but that’s really none of my business you see I’m only paid to write these instruction manuals
leafing at monster cello sorry
it’s these new plant-based teeth
and the weight of this uniform from lack of sasquatch in the spring
did you see it that time like a flash of silver at the corner of your eye but never mind it was nice to see you again and we really should get together and no that’s OK I have utensils at home
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some cloudy mornings it’s the feel of the favorite pen in your hand you charge off not caring about a cracked phone screen the band-aid covering bone the stomp of the neighbor through the ceiling hope and calm caught in little chunks we string together to make a necklace though perhaps even that was a way to dig down to the level of the excavation you needed to see with its as yet untranslated script and inscrutable editorial cartoons which they say
the flowers this year will be late and unequivocal
other animals 