counting– least favorite thing to do.. as

no matter how hight the number, it always

returns to zero, somehow. is it just me? this

is what seems to always be– the quiet

bothers, for noises ballet hops over

trellis. I can only embellish.


Angular sermon, what side’s most genuine–

maybe the paleontologists’ll dig this up, someday,

then it’ll read more colorfully. Sense, common so

rare. another letter from messaging birds, raising

him to understand symbols, or share translations useful.

See if it works. But it will. He’s already more read.


No loan, covering my own bones in what’s a packaged stone.

Singing to strangers. Hoping they don’t know a clone.