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
