This surrender has given me so much more to live for.
Never believed before, a misspelled construal
Of a constellation.

Tonight I ride the faded mosaic
With my hands clasped around the breaks in the glass.


This nativity reminds to birth is to bleed
And this December has my clay melted.
My sculptures are to be ripples in murky water.
An analog pond,
The estimation that Mankind feared rescuing,
The counting of the beans.

The alarm in every drama would plunge me
Awake, and to my knees.
The bed sheets shatter over my sky island.

To think I hadn’t packed a pistol
Or a grenadine iced tea .


This punishment has promoted me to executive status.
Supporting divine evidence, witnesses even
Overlooking the stall I pissed in.

Cousins swapping sicknesses.

Beside the brink and besides the facts,
A surrender like this has the last line of the third act:
The palm of a hand searching fingers in a glove.

And the first line of the first act:
Searching screen windows in the bath.

The light shines through.


The duty-free news on this cruise
Nobly maroons the storm forecast.

Despite the requests for serene seas,
The burnt copper wires are still scissor friendly
When there is juice to be squeezed.

How many bottomless pits fit
In the tackle of a new life?

Tonight I ride tomorrow.


Wallet in the left pocket, my leash around the war,
Step the accelerator with this prayer.

Capitulate to a road with no curves.