a fairy tale

I love WILL SELL FOR COLOSSEUM stances.
July centuries past.
Childe Hassam: fish bubble eye.
Sometimes, through its Tree Poem doom.
The mailman who went crazy and disappeared.
"Requiescat!" said the cat.
The even planet!
Posted heart!
See MORE OBSESSED WITH.

The night that comes.

The night that considers arriving
and never comes.

The beautiful difference.

Here is a Great Auk in a Here
in an old engraving.

He can't worry about the mail
or the yellow canna lily
that blossomed last night
today.

Proust's poor celebrated case.

A Giant nest of Manners.

I want to crawl inside and sleep there.

But The Night points to Heaven,
suddenly obnoxiously personified!

Nobody understands we have the photography...

Here the moment is out of humans.

Our tridents Murasaki's
bun of ways three ways trees, is no one
on the side of the trees
in this book? Good God!


Children sit and hug their knees
like a frozen northern sea.


I am too weary to reseal the Shipwreck.


I want smiles, warming haricots verts, spines.


The Toy Boat has no symptoms.


The offenders own all the Hallucinations.


God will burst in upon the house made of hair.


The house itself is rerouted
so it goes through the grotto
of Mercy.


The transgender Inuit seal gets away

in the end, slippery,

beautiful,


even lipsticked with blood.


The Night renders the men lost in circles.


The Night is offended by photography.


The Night loves simulating your Dead in a thrifty way.


This is a carved century.


The Night is not proud and loves you.


Spring where you must.


And The Night will create a movie theater


in the midst of the Blizzard to hide you forever.