Do Fairly Pleasant Thing

Sometimes I am permitted to return to a meadow
That is a place where logs were cut
That tenders a view—a mountain

I would not see for the trees.

Unscratched by thistles
I stroll a wood-chip road
Down meadow.

A rush of air past branches
Wind on skin

The road is to my eye

Unsightly and yet
It shares cause with the meadow
That is a place of forced permission.


The Ugly Neck,
or Making Bank

Robins and cardinals blurt between furrows of storm.
A way energy has of being. It can caress itself.

I know you’re in pain.
You’re in pain.
If you’re in no condition to consent,
it’s rape.
If you’re incapable of intoxication or unconsciousness
I still shouldn’t rape you, system.


Arrived Detaching Toward the Union.

If recombinatory guises suit you, prosody whore, make them do/be us.