The road is not a metaphor. It is textured and impossible
because of shoes. I wander less and less. It is absurd
to think.

There was a time when I practiced all the time.
I found the first meaning of serious which is serial
meaning I am serious. I like where my hand was a minute ago.          

Bird imagery is what I want more of without being sallow.

What is a hill? A thing to the west of now and darkening.
Every day I write a definition as dispute against
how it was yesterday.

To be clothed in a painting must signify the vicinity is bare.

How is it you are tender on the phone? I'll redress.

There is an animal in the pasture, agile topos
induced to the center. There is a woman in the photograph
musing on sadness as one muses on various crystalline forms.

It is one thing to wreck the conditions the sea does not dispel.

That strange part of morning that could also be evening.
I am up from a drunken stupor or about to make love.
The horizontal breeze sweeps the color clean off things.

Looking into water is a good way to shatter yourself.

As I come to a definition I come to.
I remember you said leave ecstasy
to the open mouths of lilies.

I was angry at the sensorium.
I have been angry at the sensorium
for dissipating me.

Here the season is causal. I think where is place,
where is place not.
             

I try to understand men
as one trained in the feudal arts.

Come here with your necessary limbs.
Maybe here is an instance of space, a sort of
waist upon the world.  Here are the corners
of the rooms you rejected.

What is an animal
but a human of no consequence to itself.

I dream I am a doctor writing a note
to turn his body into a herbarium.

The problems of the real world
to a less real one exquisitely apply.

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According to Lewis Carroll, "the proper definition of 'man' is 'an animal that writes letters.'"