That glass you raise, that praise you shower free
will crack and tumble weather-beaten, fade
as crystal ground to sand returned to sea.

From minds as fused as glass, we disagree

Sightseer

Unna servesser gronder perfer vore. Oona
sarvaysar grandy pour farv hi, hola, una
cerveza grande por favor, this big, a swan's neck
stretched, entender? Y una paella de mariscos or

iPome

hey susa im on the red line killing
time haha no im not waster i fucking
hate this fucking
no speel
haha seewhatimena

gess yorE alseep limejello makes you fat is that

when we're
my dog may not have a perfect understanding
whispering at me
that's not the way to start
let's call a heart a heart

can I
the isn't either
and on that side
maybe true confession

Spindly fingers, gnarled baobab limbs
wither, caking in sun-fired earth. My hoary skin maps
the fractured plain, feeds it, as I will be
feasted. Feet fan starlit
to satellite hamlets.

Each thrust of the drenched branch
cast a shower, held me angled,
charged to split to two bodies,
one active, one observer
but joined at the hip, stacked, jumping back

A canvasboard sketch props up the wall.
Whitened, dull blues, harmonious ochre;
canvas jags glint structured bone
behind blacklined oil contours;
stylized nose, check mark and curlicue.

Live it up until one,
beaten senseless by two.
Passing police officers pinch
the staff of a Cardiff hotel-
keeper, who totters unbalanced,
grunts "I'm still a man"

Your lovely tendrils, delicate as squid,
that twirl in many-faceted display
as light through broken glass most likely did
when midwives shrieking brought you to first day.

The streetlight buzz rises hot
and dulls the crunch of boot chewed snow
while the hissing sled sketches a wide trail
effacing his prints as they are formed;

My cast has flushed the gray-toothed afterglow,
a haze has pocked the gunwale. Droplets shine,
while mouthing ranks of carp begin to slow.

We glower silent since the evening row

It was time to bring in the dinghy.
Loosely tethered, it sagged face up
moss green in brown muck
shoulder raised to nudge the reeds
soaking leaves, growing algae.
Its tepid protozoan brew

When you wish some knowing Creator
or helpful quirk of evolution
had equipped you with one simple skill–
not much to ask, really–
to kill,
to kill with ease,

Whiskered, lithe, the guinea pigs
(not! You fruitcake. Look at them:
two stub-foot stockings
stuffed with phlegm. With teeth.)
rotund, decipher hieroglyphs

"There—which is it now?" the worker asks,
his voice dulled gruel behind the mask,
"a Pleasing Fungus, possibly the Mealybug Destroyer?
Warty Leaf? Dull Tumblebug?"