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
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,
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.