Of course that’s snow thatching
the night roof, what’s left of the roof.
Because he believed what each believe in
is home. Just another creature trying
to make paper cranes, ending up with
crumpled paper. Today we shall invent
tears. Today we shall beat crystal meth
back into earth. My remarks are organic
matter, just another creature trying to be
born from death. Today, we shall come
into existence. And then we shall comb
existence. It’s ruined and redolent
as ever. And right around the corner
and every lovely Russian word awaits
to advise on how to reach for something
beyond your hands. We’re exposed
as prose, a lot of view imagination is.
Let’s visit our hatred free in the light
of dark, try to hear some structures
begun by a lovely woman, architecture
of the small distance of mourning
doves. I want to sell me and find
no rest heartbreakingly gentle.
Forgive me my blindness with mud.
When they come for me,
I want the killers to look like you.