Slope

I think of this greenhouse as both a nursery for the flora we use in our dioramas and a Petri dish for / Unlock the notebook: torn hearts narrate on and on.

Arrest. Error. Heir. My home-twenty? My domain? My mine? / A frigid light spreads in the windless land

If I wasn't suicidal / Even Cerberus, that envious one, drinks and goes to sleep

It gets late early now / into air, into steam and passing by

What I liked about Marlin Perkins was his avuncular gentleness even as he subdued a hippo with a tranquilizer gun / but never taking

the sheep disappear / night heaves. Speaking of

Expletive! / in reality, it is always rape

First it says, “Go this way” / The universe is crushing. Rhinoceros, break it

Amazement grips us / of scratching brought relief

COMING SOON...

COMING SOON...

It blazed so starkly what else could it be / in the old sound-hole of a singing star

the swollen flotsam / in the sun, its colour is a black that binds

On analysis, even roses aren’t what you supposed / Making them look as if they may begin screaming

nine days without names, drawing breath / doping doing all through the grape night

like recurrence, the tidal marks of a sea / the sun not shining except at night, by proxy, from the other side

Here, my pretty, lay / but it should, shouldn't it?

as solo is to death so one is to plural (fictions' / comfort are heraldic and the moths meld

"am seen & do not see" – skies / To lavish attention on what wakes up, too?

There's a nostalgia principle deep at work here / Quick, look up - it's floating by

A poem is an unscrewed roof-rack and untranslatable / by bluedelicate wing

a scar of red granite cuts across the landscape / she said he was shining