WHY A SILK SCARF IS THE ULTIMATE SUMMER ACCESSORY

dear world,
I don't even know

a silver tray of cigarettes
a brutalist home underwater
wanting to be held down

hole in this poem
gnawed by moths

what gives
what gave

it's thrilling
how long a long long 
time can be

the sun setting beyond the boat that my baby calls a boat
a raven's muscle making rain

my hooped mouth a coupe
dried orange adrift
a bird, of course

I was supposed to be bones
crossing over water
which had become a different water

lie like a shard in the oracle’s mouth
wash up on another's shore

I hear my pocket rattle
my baby cry
watch a woman cycling through Kyiv

one day you wake up and no wind moves
one day you wake up and find out you are you

green trees
ordinary sky

moss
as moss

it's the term of the sale
having a body

where air should be

THE DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE IS NOW THE DEPARTMENT OF WAR

I point to the moon and call it the moon

Ankle grazing dawn 

Sun struggling through 

I move between rooms and feel rather  

It is believed that to prove permanence one must laugh for no reason

Arms like counterbalance  

Throats soft engines 

I read the foundation of a forever closet is money 

A quail egg on Versace china

Beluga caviar for a cat 

I've spent all my life pulling this body to shore

That's how it is, isn't it? 

Instead of the wall 

The Exact and the Vast

Simulation, expired and tumbling

A time slip in a French garden

An extra armhole in the night

The best is when nothing happens

The most is a hundred teeth deep in garden soil  

Sometimes I sleep in my childhood bed 

Warmth radiating down

Dearest Jared Leto

Language is a cage

Love a small disturbance

Chase it

Feeling’s burning arrow 

Jetlagged and bleary

In the distance the tallest tower, the tallest crane

Private family temples

Fog in the hills, fog in the mouth 

There must be something I'm saying when I say it 

Perhaps that I am too invested in glass objects and their not breaking

The feeling of cold rain on feet

I repeat a movement to confirm my body is a body   

Looking around 

Not wanting this anymore

Euro-brasserie fare of four decades, 

Field, path

Flowers

Ground along the way 

I just sort of stepped

I just sort of fell in 

Man I watch from afar, 

Did I tell you I built you this chair so you might sit closer 

That there are only two more acts

The middle in which I open my mouth like an oblong star

Then all that is left

ALL HAIL THE NEW YORK INFLUENCER WHO POSTED
TIKTOKS THROUGHOUT HER WEDDING

the edge of lyric is tender
form: affixed to seeing

there is the imagined warmth and there is imagined grain
sun striking your studio apartment

exile of hoar
baldaquin of vista
hummingbird piping sugar water at the window

if this is my end
what do I have and have 
to show?

masturbatory art
an outfit to match

I am learning to accept
the conditions of toil

waking up and remembering we all die 

a man falling over a sack of flour
his black shirt black, his blue jeans blue 

an article about Los Angeles losing its fruteros 

if this is work 
let it be the work that feeds you

body of snow 
ambient debris

of course I am trying to not to be
that woman who died on the internet

TIMMY AND KYLIE ARE FINALLY RED-CARPET OFFICIAL

I wonder where the people have gone 

no eggs in the supermarket 
the blue of sky and its ceasing 

near our rental a bulldozer knocks down a wall 
then another wall 
behind that wall 

form falling outside itself 

I photograph 
a telephone pole before a magnolia tree 
make light of interval 
then I forget the pole
tree
seeing 

in the afternoons 
I walk across the street
then across that street
to another street

a plastic bag blowing in the wind
a digital print from negative 
a piece of another Provence

what metier
what blinking
what else 
can be said

sound is exactly what sound sounds like 

in another life I was a Belgian saint, eating trash

my soft organs were pulled to the surface, weighted
in soft hands, 
examined softly then put 
back in place 

my personal effects catalogued:
feather, epoxy, textured poplin, 
something tortoiseshell, something 
designer, something
knockoff

remember: a shoreline is not a line

write this down  
write this down again 

I am not at the party
I am not at the party

I am missing the ocean 
which is also the sea