a lit shelf
Why Not Purse?
Dear Minotaur, how are your insinuations?
I'm offering you a piece
Of the Great Divide
Tokenly. Number of lines,
Contribute to my misery
Or to something else, something wafted
Like the glass boat refracting me
To this badly-televised shore.
A dark farm in a window told this.
In front of the architecture where we all hold swarms.
Arcturus signing out.
maps us a way around the house
objects strategically placed
give us somewhere to gaze
(absently, cottony) while we speak
Anything but your eyes, my dear,
anything but your eyes. . .
or mouth, or posture, or general
existence. We don't want
to absorb you-we want a crisis
in which we can't possibly be involved,
and so be it if such wind
shreds our investments
and carries them to the places
where blown trash collects
-as long as it comes, my dear,
as long as it comes between us.