if you recognize

shush and shutter antics prevail.
antlers pirouette at ten percent.

pillows a mire of scabs and floating chains,
i ebenezer the floorboards while my handles clam.

shoals holler down does and hooves’
supple comets lamb a handful of wool

tipsy, umber lilies push salmon fjords
past smacks and into histories of adolescent birds

flamingos pall and censor feuds as far afield
as instruments and sutures will allow

chimneys whine as midnight’s hardly younger
brother pivots seeds into angles of leaves and pith

sheaves of hemlock tease shivering shields
and, like lights, people unanswered corners of the room

if kites hew candelabras in the fumbling dawn
then bruises can surely giggle shadows under the barn

settling in

demarcations abound. hound dogs fiddle

with them and sleep. then sleep. hoops of wire

thicker than floss, thinner than a thumb.

red hot. floating. there should be something

jumping, but instead there’s only rolling.

a filling. so then they appear dotted. like

a giant washroom. wirebrushes scrubbing

the clouds. some kind of tumbling. the hound

dogs still sleeping, but with one eye open.

maybe dreaming of rabbits. ones here

and there with nothing to hold them

back from the cabbages. reflexively. paws.

a jet bisects the sky with white plumage.

scrubbed away slowly. faintly now. there

is strength still in my arm. gravity may

learn to love me again soon. the hoop

right there burning in front of the brain.