each marble tells certain stories I have
while something else is cooking the books 
so in between you try frying me around sleep
my heart still going from that treadmill
at once in several stay with me I’ll say
December colander clear ears you pushy
loops back though war is never declared
one long half hour mute why did you step
back and stones in air dust mineral particles
some white felon bunkered knowing warming
I feel differently now you have piqued me
we are just here to make bigger posters
now a community center poor loans
plinths for sitting cushions stitched
neat from coffee sacks march backwards
into a time capsule different holds boys
we have identified who really have girls have
identified themselves girls of every skin tone
why do you call me international ghost
lost cane speedy gone salads pecans apercus
pecans apricots inkwells again letters
passages about maps the idea of calligraphy
a dusty wall with brown black smudges
get into your body and you stay there till death
but in Sausalito a rolling stone inkwell
even when planted they are readily surprised
to romp in romper rooms swallow me number
my body made for shaded room at back
green I came here from sacked territories
and you in vacuum silo full of artifacts only
obscured by alps by protagonists fired by
an arc of moving vision aimed at all ears
three-hundred and sixty marathon runners
begin running in every direction at once