Between two full stops like a black desert train. A butte, a plateau, a field of wiry cactus - all this comprised distance. Was it only yesterday that we wrote about the motivational properties of steam?
Syrup in glass bottles rattle at a sudden passing roar. They turned their faces into musty pillow in order to muffle a spate of loud moans. After, he slept facing North which was comforting as always.
The apples "busted out" of the orchard. A moose picked slowly over the sweetened deadfall, an ache in his left rear thigh. The poem began to gather momentum where the phrase "anterior ligament" entered into it.
He modeled his approach to poetics after a favorite porn actor whose death had grieved him. Held loosely as a fist might a beloved pen. When the fluttering of leaves was considered sufficient and incendiary.
Halloween as sport, also an occasion for snowflakes to make an appearance. He struggled with the idea that sculpture was an event in time, seeing it instead as an object that was obligated to bear the passing of moment after moment. Theory, he wrote, was never my strong point.
An old dog in the still-dark dawn mistaken for a lumbering bear. Dreams of fruit juice offered up by an old teacher. He considered his belly a harbinger, hence all the poems having to do with hunger and fear.
What do you have against a heap of fragments? So many pieces in collusion against the whole.