A man’s muteness runs through this riot that is my sentence.

I am concerned here with the face and hands and snout.

All surfaces stream dark circumstance of utterance.

What can I escape?

Am I also trying to return?

Not the private bucket, not the 7,000 griefs in the bucket of each cold clammy word.

But just as strongly I willed myself towards this neutrality.

I have not loved enough or worked.

What I want to do here is infiltrate sincerity.

I must speak of what actually happens.

Could it be terrible then?

I find abstraction in monotony, only an...

The women is itself not a content

It is an unwavering faith in the fictional

Because they don’t exist

This work was made under the auspices of opulence

In incandescent occidental forest

In soft pale-green medium-sized notebook

(titled Many Notes Towards an Essay on Girls, Girlhood)

In the coolness descending from trees at night

Mainly I wanted to traverse a failure

Then I wanted the phoneme to spread around me like a sea

I walked beside the absence of

Then one had encountered oneself by leaving

And this posed the basis of a rhythm

As for the theology of certainty...

You step from the bus into a sequencing tool that is moist and carries the scent of quince

You move among the eight banner-like elements and continue to the edges of either an object or a convention

And in Cascadia also

As in the first line of a nursery rhyme

Against cyclic hum of the heating apparatus

You’re resinous with falsity

It’s autumn

Which might be tent-scented or plank-scented

Their lands and goods, their budgets and gastronomy quicken

You want to enter into the humility of limitations

Coupled with exquisite excess

You walk in the green park at twilight

You...

It is always the wrong linguistic moment

So how can I speak of sex?

One’s own places realism in doubt

But now I want only the discretion of realism

I can’t say it any more clearly than this

Philosophers taught me a conversion narrative

How the 4 elements change into each other by flattering

I think of them or meet with them in reading

On Oct. 2 showing their vanity and falsehood

With the frontispiece of him in laurel-crown

The room runs to swags

And popular flower pornography

The house amplifies the trembling as if its inhabitants are lodged in...

In the Spring of 1979

Some images have meanings, and some have a change in soul, sex or century.

Rain buckles into my mouth.

If pressed to account for strangeness and resistance, I can’t.

I’m speaking here for dogs and rusting ducts venting steam into rain.

I wanted to study the ground, the soft ruins of paper and the rusting things.

I discover a tenuous utopia made from steel, wooden chairs, glass, stone, metal bed frames, tapestry, bones, prosthetic legs, hair, shirt cuffs, nylon, plaster figurines, perfume bottles and keys.

I am confusing art and decay.

Elsewhere, fiction is an...

Though my object is history, not neutrality

I am prepared to adhere to neither extreme

That which can no longer be assumed in consciousness becomes insolvent

Because it doesn’t finish I can be present

So I decide to speak of myself, having witnessed sound go out

Fear is not harmful, but illuminates the mouth

I am not qualified to comment on the origins of the shapes

The archive pivots on a complicity neither denial nor analysis can efface

It is not true, it shines from your face

Against the hot sun that hits us, nothing’s peace

And pairs that cannot...