The Very Bottom of Everything

As the full moon rises

The swan sings in sleep

On the lake of the mind.

-Kenneth Rexroth

The eternity of white

professed in

Headlamps or

Simply the fresh wall,

A simulation of the senses.

I would prefer this

To the bend of evening

the backside of pureness

the haunt...

Man Made World

calendar of murmurs

vague caresses about the planet and its water

we could have confused words

but there were doors open

confetti in the midst of darkness

gentle ways

to swoon in a corner with she who

put her tongue in my mouth

-Nicole Brossard

a line of gaping homes with nothing
full of souls and sound and space and spit
a million memories withholding
the remainders of a modern pit