sun – other animals

early evening early in the death thinking about death all day the video game deaths I played the music death all the death TV shows the same even if they try to death it my back still sore but better death than the dog deaths her new toy

and no I never did get around to that I gave up on connection and went down paths they warned me about to make blurred photocopies of those same mistakes my hands stumbling fat then thin leaves fell and grew the early sun in winter faithfully rendered in Minecraft reddened the tips of things in a neighborhood or that or this heavy frenemy in my chest sometimes makes his strange will speak

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

what would it sound like
to walk out on the sound

gulls chase
gulls for a bit

that sound
breathing
needles

so I hope for green
through the still black
door to see color to
burst into bloom into
color burst and burst

what thoughts I would have liked
putting them on a shelf or

but what would it sound like
opening my mouth the way

the white heron hides its neck
am I too late

do I keep
taking notes on sheets of ice

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 rotten

how 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 more

I can’t remember
why I entered this race

and I want to go to war with
each slender shadow

my 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

In the morning you can reach out and see on the breeze in the mind the damp stone tightening straps keep him in place the pain in his cell the confession conversion meaningless at this point or the life by the sea rough stone grey the children I pushed through and lined up in the earth and the cliffs so beautiful lonely one time one town on the frontier barely built I can still smell new cut wood that simple home sun creeping through seams in the wall another sunny place warm weather sweet breeze always fetching writing down his many thoughts the wine was good

I sing my love without any sun
but sudden snow in berry time

(First published in Bones.)

something wants to burst but changes direction with every dollar store bass note from cars speeding past the red white and black opossum stinking the praised summer sun

before this morning just the blank blue

black before the sun fades it back to

the usual but now just feet above

the broken basketball hoop great Jupiter

and greater Venus inches apart and

though I don’t know it now the next

few black mornings in dark blue

cool they will sport in that spot in a

slow silver dance that even without

my glasses warms my hazy blue head

the sun silently deifying crumbs on the table

green sun on the grey stone of a crumbling week