remaster, I got big sign I amble off

face lit as skin of someone bathing.

young frayed hoods smell saltier.

police refuse the fear stairs, one gropes a breast

under a sports bra. historical pic! crowd

shoots all then closes behind, laptop.

you sexy thang.  anticrow anticrow

anticrows and swoops

the street, imperfectable, police seem

to have insatiable sexual

appetites, skyscraper bends over itself, as if to bow

or readjust, then lighthouse

a tangerine rolling out of a tent

is a real tangerine and people are

intemperate, out of air current    hot breath and other waves

of Being, wherein each calls for the other,

gives a sign.  where are we to put

the limit between the body and the world,

since the world is flesh?

birds cry!    lovers die!

hermit can’t eat the plastic

the sports bra snaps back

of great design

vet of bones all his brothers dead inside him stops to pose

with the lean of a milkman, smiles his truths of 1945.

the policeman’s hand is gone

imaginal, archetypal

the best messages are mutual and free from all ambition, like a wishbone.

hermit crossed the pond can’t eat the plastic

Steve Jobs we’re sorry you died

images feel good taken into the human palm

how to back into our new instruments

how light November rain