You have to worship the fact of life and not its

Corny by-products.

Art is for romantics.

Art is for stupid people.

It’s believable.

When you sin it is believable.

You have the evil fingers.

You have creation light, too.

You’ve been so sorry.

Why have you been sorry?

Think about what life has done to you.

When you think the good are to be rewarded

You reveal your essential stupidity.

I am asking you to take that cover

Down.

I hate a white sky, bare trees, Ontario-ness, winter.

I keep saying I submit and do not.

I have to attend to my pussy.

I have to attend to my heart.

It’s true I hardly know what’s going on

And can’t let that full fact go.

I’ve let my thoughts virgo as

Detective work

Though I have to have problems I suppose

To tenderize

My sweetness.

Or else I would have a

Very, very hard sweetness.

Considering

As a way of being.

I have done that.

A decided

Closeness

With the

Materials

Of a circumstance.

I like have been close to

What’s arrived and

Arriving: I saw

Everything.

And I listened to

Some, many.

I listened to a great deal

And with a placid intelligence

Supported

The odours entering me.

I smelled; thus

I knew.

I could smell

In this Friday blue hour –

An approach to

Night as it

Isn’t night:

I can’t see the sky

From where I’m sitting

But I see

The colour of the air

Around the cactus

And the colour of the air

Around the

Red soil

And I know what the sky is thinking:

I see it turn itself

To closing, so I –

Good night –

Can leave this room

Where the vibration of a resting cellphone

Is a fart

In the, now,

Night –

I have to live. There’s stuff inside of things.

There’s a fridge in the staff kitchen.

And there’s stuff inside that fridge

That isn’t for me to eat but I want

To eat it.

A sound.

Is there

Someone behind me?

No ok I want to eat what I left at home then.

I am glad that I left it

So that

I can eat it –

The centre of a blackberry

It’s like eating butterfly body, basically.

What is bread?

Is bread women?

Is bread youth?

Is bread sorrow?

Is bread

A marshmallow?

What is bread?

In the dream

I didn’t want to give him the $20 on my dresser.

Days before there weren’t

And then were snakes

Of blue, red, and lemon

Ejecting from a hedge

Maze, a garden.

I want on a walk.

I want

Every morning

The damp, loose soft

Of the sky.

I sleep in a room.

I store clothing there.

Outside my room is a hallway

That leads to a door

Beyond which

Is a street

In a city

In a world

In which I live too.

I live in this world.

I live

Today.

I’m of a time.

It will know its name when