A concrete pool cavern
inscribing its farcical prophecies, photocopied and tissue papered together so the
screen door, in the dark, in the
model. what a pizza!
I lived inside, and saw the inside of the
envelope bin, the dry rolls of
coins, and the not.
wooden fence post, tongue
lapping at the
overturned sky, for me?
I can’t get its attention, no matter how
many stones I launch. The
full measure of an earthenware pitcher is
what it overlooks, including but not
limited to the view out the beachside
glass doors.
Empty airport coughing
up a blueberry scone in a
Lucas Samaras box. In the
halls, I hear this
parade finds no
audience. But it’s a grand…