give up aghast

i 'splay my colored pencils into the sun

and what of license, Mr. Williams?

what of stoplight burglaries
poverty in a painting smock
ad infinitum'd
like soldiered & triangulated mirrors
to show how everyone changes

what of the
crawlspaces et cetera'd
throughout the city center

a man buys a saw from which he
might makes thunder

against the grain locks
a language of one's own
unique and metallic

at the end of the party
the way saunter swollen daughters

and confess bedspreads out their mouths