to a degree beyond pure function
breaks up the fight and
and cuts the scheme for the next
kitchen window which I will look out
in love
anyway there is sun dancing here
in this 6 pm, or there was
the kitchen window I will look out alone
depending on strength the hardwood
table top to which I apply years
of wear now
how I want years of
but the way tonight joins with
ln, fused in one still of the sun
setting through bamboo
and yet, there is the shop vac
the compost
the radio
I know a me poem now grown
on edge and medicine
at best, I devise
a tattoo with a shadow
here is the cat's grave
her name written in rocks
unspelling itself
there is the oregano
the exterminator
the phone
it's power
for me, anger, July 5
and one orange left on the tree
