the body’s metric, a is home not home,
re-toweling of thought, filament,
a the ancient way of paying bills,
ribbon-tailed. A is I refuse to say
This the book not the book.
bird flies in threads out
Wave pool. Landing pad,
Hand over hand the clothesline drawn in,
alight here and bring something back.
we will discuss in small voices,
In the dead corners
Jerked up from the dusty road
letters resound snarl and curse,
Deep exhaustion of serving.
A is for order. Paradox.
A for the before that was never before.
To be lost in meaning, all entry points,
the supernatural speaking in your ear,
with it, A the great woe,
What animals do not fit the bill?
my gored nose fills with pollen,
Time the texture, silent trumpet song.
I like to give myself projects, and my current one is an abecedarius. It has been a labor-intensive, free-associational, explorative bout of insanity, but a worthwhile one. And it's not over. I also like deadlines, since my son will be born three weeks from this writing. And which sort of makes me wish there weren't 26 letters in the English alphabet.