prepositions

in twos
pieces of a conch shell
pressing into what could have been
the window
, a shore from which a pondersome look stretches,
taking in a life of plankton
somersaults in unpocketed
grasps, grasps,
grasps at

in twos
the dangling curtain ribbons
squeezing into a present, tense
but firmly shut
darknessings
wherever there is room to crash
upon hundred million forevers of
approach
of approaching

in twos
surgery lines cuddle asphalts
railings shiver while bridging
comingclosers,
left with two sails
afloat, is, there tatters
there tatters

Lorde

she's weird.
not proud of her address,
projecting into the microphone
her spider limbs.
the applauding stampede behind her teeth
an auditorium for me in the front row.
gouged in her lower lip
she has me all and over
eyelids drawn
cranium side-wound,
enjoying.

in cities

you laughed
explosions
occlusions are what we had
after silver plates came, went,
oars boating their way to tomorrow.

my scratched shoes
you left indentations in the landscape, in them,
wherever you sent your presence
to gravitate

you and i
caught raining

the more we love,
the more we moved 
in the past sense.

dear,

i live in an hourglass shape with you

it is wonder that the middle between us
has only space enough
for fingers rolling over palm lines

i can trace the diagonal breaths you give
that i take
i want to give them back to you.

thank you for
breaking open the glass on your side

you prevented my walls
from fogging up, so i could still see your
slanting eyes

i can only hope to keep chipping at mine
so i can join you in floating away 

love,
 

infinite player

a true teacher starts his student to do something
and doesn't know where it's going
i want to, and begin,
true poets lead no one unawares
it is nothing other than awareness that poets
that is, creators of all sorts
seek.
they do not display their art so as to make it appear real;
they display the real in a way
that reveals it to be an art.
something necessary, no.
only possible.
and wherever he ends up,
that is, when he decides to stop and locate himself
he will be there, having begun
about to begin.

soar

from airport to airport, 

Bridge or Hologram

i am listening to the way the stones
eat next to each other under me,
my sound of stepping.
i am confused by the red echo
of the many dots on the green carpet,
measled there looking at me
as my pupils are trying to slip away noiselessly
to branches, or grass, somewhere green
then dart back unnoticed
- quick before the magnet meets me,
of their eye sockets, telling
come, come out
into the tumbling gears and working cogs
of being interested in sex
- join us here! the white fields demand
the red veins to extract, then! a shoot
at the low of my back as i am patting the ground,
my alien proboscis exposed to the onlooking
two satellites.
i recognise these space machines,
but do not know how to impress buttons
into them without covering up the holes.
i am listening to the way the stones
sit next to each other under me,
quiet.
i am feeling now the surface of the planet
just as starlight thumbs across it
like turning a page, but for the 
countlessth time, the writing has not changed.
i am seeing the starlight park its
pats of assurance on the shoulders of cliff faces,
brushing away eroding tears.
i am listening to the way the stones
wait next to each other under me
- what are you waiting for? tell, tell!
i, crossing, 
try,
look me no longer at.