Love soils at the drip of a tendon
And blank is nothing in the roundesphere.
H. attacks the great totems of passion,
And now we annul the wholly there
Until our sextants darken remarkable.
I’d like to lie in the cool grass
With my haggard nostrums.
It would be like fire in the crossroads ;
A fuschia archaeopteryx would eat my bones.
Love soils, see how easy ?
Slender quietness, transubstantiating octave,
What happened to your velocity
On this rainy zero ?
[In Sunny Wednesday, Wave Books, 2009]