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“... Then the Rainafter years of virga, aftermuch almost& much never again, aftercoalescing in drylightning & downdrafts & fire,after taking an alternatepath thruhistory & bypassingus, after the trees,after the gardens,after the hard seedspushed in as deep aspossible & kept alive on dew,after the rutswhich it had once cutfilled in withdust & moulds – & podsthat cannot sprout –not even the birdscame – & old roadsbegan to reappear –after the animals,after the smallest creaturesin their tunnels & undertheir rocks,after it all went, then,one day,out of in-terference & dis-continuity, out of in-congruity,out of collisionsomewhere high above ourburnt lands, out ofchemistry, unknowableno matter howquantifiable,out of the touching of one atom by another, out of theaccident oftouch, the raincame ...”

“... I think this is all somewhere inside myself, the incessant burning of my birth             all shine             lessening as also all low-flame             heat of love: and places loved: space time and people heightening, burning, then nothing:             alw ...”

“... see me what did u see did u scrape what I asked u for asked u to make me into asked &asked there is a name in the body of this blood-rush which u parse in-correctly, I know u think u connect the dots of my inquiry the date of the last revolution thepressure cooker the flesh the right temperature whom do u have locked away in thebasement this time – it is always the same answer they shall stand on line they r covert as inu shall not see them u shall look away where is the nearest place where workis – we wish to be heard and overheard – are u not listening – why taser me who am paintinggraffiti on the abandoned McDonald’s wall in North Miami into my heart you shall shockmy life out of me you shall not see a trace of me please surveil please see what I happenedto search for out of having nothing real given me to do what shall I write on this screen nowI have written it again and again throughout all eternity at this desk in these clothes do yousee me as I am now clothed with my uselessness at your screen begging you to see me seemy circumstances clothe me with a genuine gaze fatal so be it but actual see me as theproject I am for this planet, earth, the one who needs work, accursed, material, my self, myone singular war memorial, my own native land, temporary, what shall I search for in thecity of searches, part of the circuitry in here with you, animated, these are not actualwords, they come out as integers you track, where are the crumbs, where are the woods tomy right to life – see the word appear here before us both – happiness – full of carbon andsystems – and do you not hear any of the murmuring down at the dead end ofthis street, I’m not complaining, I am the temporary, a crime against humanity, I am thetemporary, u are adding more versions of me to the offices of humanity, I am even moretemporary, a row of boarded-up queries, are u wondering why the tenses here are soscattered, why they don’t add up to the time u search for me in ...”

“... I am writing this in code because I cannot speak or saythe thing. The thing which should be, or I so wishcould beplumbed fathomed disinterred from this silence, this ever thickeningsilence through which, once, the long thin stalks & stems, firstweaker weeds then branching &stiffening, steadying &suddenly sturdier –strong enough to carry the seen – the seeming autocorrect reminds me –the meaning my mind offers rushing in heresuch that I must pull it back here –grew ...”

“...                                                                           here. May I touch your                                                                           name. Your                                                                           capital ...”

“... From                                  the still wet iron of                                  my fire                                  escape’s top railing a truth is making this instant on our clock                                  open with a taut                                  unchirping un-                                  breaking note – a perfectly                                  released vowel travelling the high branches across the way, between us and the                                  others, in their                                  apartments, and fog lifting for sun before evaporation                                  begins ...”

“... Teasing out the possible linkages I – no you – who noticed – if the world – no – the world if – take plankton – I feel I cannot love any more – take plankton – that love is reserved for an other kind of existence – take plankton – that such an existence is a form of porn now – no – what am I saying – take plankton – it is the most important plant on earth – think love – composes at least half the biosphere’s entire primary production – love this – love what – I am saying you have no choice – that’s more than all the land plants on the whole planet put together – blooms so large they can be photographed from space – everything living – take it – here you take it, I can’t hold it anymore – you don’t want it – I don’t care – you carry it for now – I need to catch my breath – I want to lie here and listen – within fifty years if we are lucky – I am writing this in 2015 – like spraying weedkiller over all the world’s vegetation – that’s our raw material, our inventory, right now, we are going through the forms of worship, we call it news, we will make ourselves customers, we won’t wait, how fast can we be delivered – will get that information to you – requires further study – look that’s where the river used to be – one morning I woke up and I was born – I realised I was born – earth was the place to be – hurtling winding unwinding thick nexus looking up at sky down at soil will I learn how to stand on it – I will – I am standing, look, I am a growth possibility, will accumulate a backlog, will become an informed consumer→shapeless unspendable future→this was my song to you→ I stood for the first time on my own→unimaginable strength in these feet, these hands→what am I supposed to not harm→I want to touch things till they break→that is how to see them→all the points of contact→entropy, diminishment, pressing and then pulling back and looking, leaving alone→unimaginable→a meaning in every step→I change shape→it is allowed→wind proves everything wrong→so nothing is unimagined→press too far and there you have it→dream→shape of certainty→wide forces gathering in the sunlight→thought→feel this it is serenity→this is completeness→something darted into the bush→no forcing just curve flight gathering terror unfinality clumps of feel/think then tree-swallows bursting up out of the tree they were not leaves after all the field of rules not visible but suddenness its own rule→surprise ...”

“... All around in            houses near us, the            layoffs,            the windows shine back            sky, it is a            wonder we can use the word free and have it mean anything            to us. We stand still. Let the cold wind wrap round go            into hair in- between fingers ...”

“... from the cadaver beginning to show through the skin of the day. The future without                      days. Without days of it?                      in it? I try to – just for a second – feel that shape. What weeds-up out of nowhere as you look away for                      good. So that you have to imagine whatever’s growing there growing forever ...”

“... After great rain. Gradually you are revealing yourself to me. The lesson carves                      a tunnel through an occupied territory. Great beaches come into existence, are laved for centuries, small                      play where the castles are built, the water carried up for moats, the buckets lost at the end of the exciting                      day, then even the dunes go under, it takes a long while but then                      they are gone altogether, ocean takes the place, as today where the overpass revealed the fields gone                      under &, just at the surface of the water, the long miles of barbed wire, twice-there, the ones below (of water) trembling, the fence-posts’                      small fixed pupils staring up                      every fifty feet at the sky, glittering, their replicas shivering, the spines of grasses gnawed-at by the sick                      human eye, when will we open them again our eyes, this must all be from the world of shut eyes, one’s temples feel                      the cold, maybe one is                      inside a sea shell, one is what                      another force is hearing – how lovely, we are being handed over to an other force, listen, put                      this to your ear – the last river we know loses its form, widens, as if a foot were lifted from the dancefloor but not put down again, ever,                      so that it’s not a dance-step, no, more like an amputation where the step just disappears, midair, although                      also the rest of the body is missing, beware of your past, there is a fiery apple in the orchard, the coal in the under-                      ground is bursting with                      sunlight, inquire no further it says, it wishes it were a root, a bulb, a closed fist – look how it fills                      with meaning when opened – then when extended – let us not                      go there – broken, broken – no to the imagination of some great                      murmuring through the soil as through the souls of                      all men – silent agreement which is actually the true soil – but there it is now going under – nothing                      will grow in it – the footsteps are washed away which might have attempted kindness or cultivation or a walk over the earth to                      undertake curiosity – that was our true gift to creation: curiosity – how we would                      dream eyes closed in fog all through the storm, then open up to aftermath, run out to see – & then of course too much, too                      much – too much wanting to know – sorry I did not                      mean to raise my voice – I will turn no further – you are making yourself punishable says the flood – I will                      drink it, I will, my God gave it me says the evaporation sluicing the invisible surfaces,                      in which clouds are being said, right into the shuddering of time, its so called passing – each land                      had its time for being born, each date a cage shrinking – until the creature has ribs that bend-in and a skull that is                      forced into its heart, & the rain is falling chattering pearling completely turning-in, turning, lost,                      & all the words that might have held it, it now                      flows through, & the rim of the meaning crumbles – & it is the new world you wanted – & it is beginning                      its life now ...”

“... everyone woke up. It was a gorgeous sunny day. The lists with our names on them were laid out in the light. Someone straightened the pile. Are they complete I heard a voice ask though it was awfully far away from the beautiful day. Which was a masterpiece. Something’s apogee. A hegemon, a crystallisation – a gigantic re-beginning. We will all be trans- formed I heard myself think ...”

“... speaking to. What is that listening tous. I’d like to know whom to address. In this we callthe physical world. Is there another where the footfalls gofrom this stony path as it grows granular. They dis-appear. The silence is ruinous. It seems there could be thunder hidden in this blazingblue, but it’s just dry wind reaching the field. I’d like to know again whom toaddress ...”

“... parched, on tight, questioned, invisible, full of so much evolution, now the moment is gone, begin again, my skin, here, my limit of the visible me, I touch it now, is spirit-filled, naturally-selected, caught in the storm here under this tree, propped up by history, which, I don’t know which, be careful, you can’t love everyone – brought to you by Revlon, melancholy, mother’s mother, the pain of others, spooky up close in this mirror here, magnified to the 100th, brutal no-colour colour, what shall I call it, shall I pass, meandering among the humans, among their centuries, no safe haven this as if, this spandex over a void, no exception, god watching though casually, paring, paring, a glance once in a while – what am I missing – what am I supposed to do now suddenly, what at the last minute here – what is there to fix – are we alone – am I – packaged so firmly for this short interval – vigorous skin, doomed outsideness of me – sadder & no wiser here blown up, so close, so here, I see you net that skeins me in, tight inside my inwardness – at this border judged – at this edge bleeding when hit – as was for a while – didn’t know enough to leave – didn’t see the farewell – right there in front of me – must it always end this way – must I ceaselessly be me, reinvent you, see the artifice us, feel hand-to-face the childhood gone, the starlight the wind the gaze the race, the stranger not knowing, the unsaid unsaid, unseen unfound – look how full of void it is this capture, these pores no one can clean, and thoughts right there beneath – of course you cannot see me for this wrapping – I notice the cover of your book, the dress you hide beneath, you sitting there reading me – pay mind, pay it out, peering as we are at each other here – dermal papilla pigment-layer nerve fibre blood and lymph, can we fit into this strictest time, so quick, one click and hurry up – we’ve been trying forever to get out of this lonely place – inside’s inside – the movie of the outside was all about exploring, we explored, we found what we should never touch, we touched, we touch, what’s so unusual we say, you are now mine we say, this is the feature coming on, this future, so full of liking & fine dis- closure, a bud-tip pushing aside its sheathe, then standing there, very whole now and official, open to damp, heat, stippling, shadow, freckle, slap, beauty or no beauty – please help me here as I can’t tell – the trees don’t know – the wind won’t speak – the gods must but their names are being withheld – because some of us are murdered, and some of us have mouths that keep saying yes, do that to me again, I know it hurts but yes, I am an American and I like it harder than you’ll ever know, this is Tuesday, the day rises with its fist over the harbour saying give it to me and the day obliges, saying more, more, do you want more, and the torch of dawn says more, yes more, ask for my identification, my little pool of identification, here on the only road, arrested again among the monuments ...”

“... And that you hold the same one hawk each day I pass through my field             up. And that it             may choose its             spot so freely, from which to scan, and, without more than the wintry beguiling             wingstrokes seeding             the fields of air, swoop. It feeds ...”

“... Of the two dogs the car hit, one, two, while we were talking, and thinking about                      how to change each                      other’s mind, the other people’s                      survived – dark spot near the front                      fender just hair blowing in low wind, a spot all wind’s, then a stir in the ribs and everything’s rising slow-motion up from the tight small shoulders, the                      chest, the                      dragging hind end of itself on the dirt                      road as if sewing a new strap                      back on, dragging, a long                      moment, then the                      division occurs and the wide perishing shrinks and the legs                      are four again and                      up ...”