we stuff machines or they stuff us

yet coming back to one body

that is really a gutter stream

from up the same block, some-

one washing or watering his car

was bald of course,

he had no hair & we being right

took what little comfort playing dead

in the upper reaches of a tree,

climbing thru a window to look for

something up there, up &

filled from side to side with music,

inside the room, was always dark, &

everyone’s house was like that, no scheme

to the possibility that creation was all matter,

a boat somehow without lake, flying, above us,

no part yet to go to, it, being

nothing of the sort, we talk now, later

from an incomplete list brought about by some advent

that hasn’t the time to

pluck itself from the book, to focus such

attention of the sound of this pronouncement,

careful in consideration, you might

smash the past with doctrine, making all the time

an essay on syntax,

leaning to the remainders, a table, there, if broken

yields light, from where it can be seen,

down to where the action is, we had

nothing to speak of & yet were the lucky ones,

thinking, shouldn’t they be the happiest children

on earth, the planet, resolves, a sound like

water, water like sound, over there,

behind spread fencing, topped at the top with razor,

who thought they’d improve the barbing-

if we indeed decree by moon or light

"up-there" passing inherent

to where it came from, gone

as it were, in the passing phrase, back &

once again, further on, where

names withheld me, or

we fluttered by in the whiteness

of nothing else, late or passing

by, inherent in every-

thing, we must have focused on

the difficulties down, waiting for another bed,

thinking, a dug out place a hundred years later,

a narrow bed a sea or lair

withstanding the physical sense, satisfied, is

nothing left, late, about the space

we turn over, then, if it is so,

more space than time, no change

in everything actual, rings

at the bottom of a pool, head biting head,

where the real flower sits

as it’s known, splitting open.

something there that comes,

that comments on or will,

there by itself, grammar

of the field, field anywhere taken

where voice is fact of air, now that

seasons come over the bridge, a man

woman or child, the act of stating "that’s it", or

That is it. sitting & reading, call it

Out on the Playing Field, a ball

held tightly by rope, the wrist, red, upper portions

of the plate,

place is a black substance, a rest

not a glottal, memory coherent with time

taken from him, linked to sleep &

language taken in seams, not by breath, a cool’d longing

what voice is mines, what voice is voiced, over

the drum humming,

by wanting

time & tone again, paper refolds

& is folding a secretive want

by the waves or the wants

fenced in the sentence’s turning, in with an out

of a thick fingered now

light light reflection, say

nothing, say self is bound

for circumference to stop,

temporality timed for collusion

where nothing heard

on hearing drops.