Moths dream in scent, circling.
Asleep, carefully sideways. My knee in the hollow of your knee.
In the dream I was so bad they threw me out of prison, and so each night I was forced to work on the design of a better prison. Then I got right, and I inserted unbuildings into my work, and crowbars, and clues, so when I woke up I would know what to do.
Waking up and resisting, commas, commas, resisting, co,mmas, Re,sis,ting c,omma,s,,,,, the fleas in my sentences are not the bedbugs of my thoughts the bedbugs of my thoughts are only some of my thoughts and, the, rest, are, commas;
She rides in a chariot of wasps and when she reaches this country we’ll no longer look west.
As if my bed was a plane and you were its pilot. You speak into the intercom. It’s going to be bumpy flight. I like these parts best you say in your official pilot voice. Don’t you?
My thumb joint is a joyous crow.
Lazily scratching your calf. You tell me you’ve solved my punctuation problems. All of those commas, we’ll use them as earrings and troutlures. Everything will pause; we’ll use our teeth.
White as goosefat. What are you going to do about it?
One day I will be pregnant with twins, and they will be luminous inside me, winning lotto numbers all down their backs.
The building I saw before I awoke, its support, was also your body, our house, the garden sloping down to the sea.
When I document my life I’ll keep a second set of books and then my double will be complicit to my existence when he reads them.
Mary says I’m going to squeeze words out of your ass, and then we’ll have orange juice for breakfast!
Nearly there nearly there my beard around my ears all the hair on my toes we’ll be one soon thicket thinking for ourselves harboring woodland creatures I’ll be a wilderness I’ll be spring.
Wake up with a book that asks more of you each time you open it you put a little in each time it says good I won’t tell you the story about thirst I will tell you the story about elephants instead you like them I know they’ll be your favorite.
An alarm clock set to put you to sleep, a political party.
My armature gets removed, and freestanding I’m admired by you. Such webs we have. Ways of thinking.
I knew it was working when I couldn’t stop laughing.
I’m so tired I don’t even feel the ants crawling on my legs.
I get my nose replaced, but my donor’s a saint! Whenever I want to, I just tilt my head back and I get a whiff of heaven. So it’s God’s fault where I stick it.
Impatient cats! Trying to teach me patience.
The bus stops across from the house I lived in when I was seven years old, but I’m not sure if I want to get off with the other kids or just stare out the window.
Why settle when you can see?
Get up too early, go to sleep too late, until until unlit until