More important than having 
    been born is your city
    the scale upon which your
    heart when you die will
    be weighed 
                        Alice Notley



                          iff

                                  there no more penicillin
“you don’t believe that yourself”

                                                             More 
                                                           i dream
                                                            solely 
                                                        of acetylene
“is that uncomfortable?
world’s uncomfortable”

                                               showing me the handsome
                                               role of the ridiculous— 
                   fear gurgles self satisfaction:
                                                          our den: separation
place-setting
                                       who else missing?
                                                
       she stumble-wish strong   crosslegged
                                                  on a moldy rug
                                                                    unswept oblivion
                                                                     illicit liberties 
waiting to be severed
from despair                   
           

                                                            §

Amass the lovely the lost the least
                  thermophiles 
packed the Quarter
past grandmother Decatur’s long hair
                                reminds us of a neglected time machine
               
boiled leather to flat screens
show you our new car

                                “Baby, I don’t have any clothes
                                “It’s okay, I don’t have a stomach”

                                                             §                             

                leave please 
Anyways our home
don’t long entanglement
                the dud ultimatums        taste like old tomatoes
                          exploded
                                  when handled
                                                                                brackish, vaporized 
                                                                                remains
                                                                                   trial and burial                                                              
                                                                                                                several disappearing skins                                                
                                draped the Tree of Life’s limbs
                                letter tacked to trunk reads:


                                  dear America,
                                                Love,
                                                                                                              who 
                                                                                                you    know

                                                     i write your name in disbelief.                            

                                                              §

                 Mess
                 O 
                 Pot
                Amia
               
                open mud huts
                grooming hairs
                scratching bites
                broken tools packed
                on dirt paths                           
                animals curtwail                                when I say                                               
                so much time corresponds                           it
                to nothing                                                    suitcase                                 nagbu
                mortars of fruit fermenting             wish it was you                        lured like the doe
                                                                                                                                        savoring a deer lick

                                                            §

                                                            Sati sequins on Audubon’s grass
                                                                                incorporating
                                                                                words fresh kudzu electricity for a sec
                                                                                snow makes sense 
                                                3 moonlit summers
                                                 assure the exhausting 
                                                 breath of the Mississippi
                                                 will not extinguish—
                                                                                  distant extant:

                                                                                    a nother                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                appears

                                                        “Hey   Come here
                                                                         I am here”