Index

Uh oh Apeiron You're pushing your luck Still burning flame's not enough In the abstinence we cremated to outrun our living on

In names, our places, on the front steps of a morgue Getting caught kissing, as a deer and as a poor boy, I was not yet who I deploy

Birds have passage Fly to south to rest by the water Repeating colors as fate At night

Whisper baby to oneself Finish the blood off his ears And clean out that loud metal mouth So our death can last reappear

Speaking through other fates ajar A Ghost is so cold out of doors Descended from both cats and dogs It takes seventeen ships to reach the Fall Of becoming

Cursed by a memory game Lose to echoes, one thousand eyes look for change Birds have passage Fly to the south to rest by the water

Repeating colors of fate I don't believe in Fantasy Football

Opening right at the throat When I fall asleep brimming at the edge of the bed Breath turns into Love in dormant hibernation

I walk through the snow just to take the B38 Home as a new descriptor for mom and dad And the complex that reeks with dead animal

Stench distracts me from knives I'm supposed to sell At least I can call Miss W Jones Miss W Jones

Just an illusion taking coincidental forms repeating the comedy eleven Again it's a long wet month

Yet a greater loneliness exists in shadows of platonic Journeys imprisoned by unlivable present, in seconds of kissing the climax I'm slow to forget in half my unconsciousness

At least I can call Miss W Jones Miss W Jones