waiting for spring on an unusually spring-like day in December

living inside the world means noticing when the white van leaves and the brown one returns with the groceries to the backyard is full of brambles a rotting wood fence in farm country in the middle, a huge city. this is any--i hear gun shots. i go ice fishing, snow melts on the island i take my dogs to sniff squirrel tracks and muddy. the world is melting my world is

buckwheat flour ice crust
the glint blue of December
a neighbor shouts, a bus turn, breaks whine, this thin tannic film coats my front tooth,
a grape skin breakfast

tempts me to exacerbate the condition by sipping red wine. window turn gold
as brown van
parts plain and simple
deeper nothing?
the surface melts

my ex-roommate creeps into her ex-backyard to rip smoke
a salt cloud rises black serpent
street.

hello white van! i'm alone with an interior voice,
dogs
I will you to turn right.
a weird person. with one red eye
casts ordinary spells.

poison water, salty with dispersed air
drugs and white flour fog daybreak
empty street except the lone man gazing at the frothy sun
shifting one foot frozen to

my ghost, the winter, from ice cells spring
huddled grass, corner and await
the green van

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no one in attendence
no one god but godallah

kucf.

no one but god grave grace
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southern Province sun
triple sea water wash
a blue smile chicklet

salt of ye
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ye makith
mouth smooth in the whole moon
hahahahapp holy

i hope!
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even as the moon goes black
and takes us

rock a bye

to tilt and whir

whorestreet

i
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align mine eyes I godallah
snow blanket pine
fall silent
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no one in attendance but you, god.

my experiences are secondary