ground lamb made me, I don't know who

eating meat from a cart and a salty
chocolate bar whole,
the nausea and tears that follow
are so grounding
I don't like to admit I feel better
feeling sick I get stuff done
but so far away from poems
and god
liness?
consequence of feeling it all
consequence of numbing out
the same?

grace garden

grief, enough for all, it happening now

out through

winter come
freeze the membranes til they shatter

winter go
fill the ground with rain

far under dirt it will be warm
dark may let this body germ

lit pass

when they speak
I feel lighter than air

for hours after
balloons of me
race to the sky

and I can't sleep for wanting
to hold the open hands below

Favorite Sloths

I do it for him, I did.
Now he does it for me, he might
if he would.

She does it for me, she did.
Now I don't do it for her, I would
maybe if she might.

I'd gladly give it all!
I'm willing to give nada.
I want someone else to

do it for me.

Chatter a couple rare beasts
carried drugged in a sack.

No more danger
pets please.

Seeds of rice in a bag of grains
slung over a hip sliding off a
bicycle pausing in the rain

intended for a soup also need
a hunk of meat or maybe a
mushroom. Waiting at the turn

stile for a swipe. Swiping.
Dishes from before girlfriend
got on the plane are drying now.

Glad us on Franklin

I think you're a jerk.
I'm chicken to tell you
what a jerk I think you are.
You're a jerk because
when I thought you
were delicious I was too
chicken to tell you.

Accumulating shoes
in sizes not mine.

      ***

Discarding the
possibilities
petal by petal.

    ***

Since birth
or thereabouts
I keep a pig
full of coins.

Tarrytown

The boats wrapped in white
like wedding tents, cranes
in the water next to the bridge
that crosses with a curve.
To be returned to the colors
of the east in winter,
the gray of water,
the gray blue and gray red
of paint on metal,
the modest gray yellow
of a house, or a vine,
tracks in me like peace.
The little sighs
of the gray water,
would you call that a wave?
those cat licks
of up, and down.
Scratchy sticks of the empty trees
worry the yellow stone of the river cliff
as we approach Greystone,
and the boroughs, roaring closer,
with their neighborhoods of dates
past, I tarried did not marry!
Schist in the cliff:
there was some heat, time
decisively compacted into
rock under ground under homes.
The gulls stand very solid
their feathers ruffling like Hudson waves.
Considering that I'm still hoisting
my laundry upstate and down,
oh back and forth river, where's peace?
Take a look at the posture
of that still, cold bird.