let us bow our heads to the glass that holds the eyes of the misty vacuum.
sooner or later it'll be later.
a fast chair talks like it has no feathers.
nobody knows the street that sleeps under the broken hunger.
stretch the plum that whistles in the clouds.
no one can run like a wounded wrist.
walls are mountains of seedless pillows.
suppose you have a stone in one hand and a wasp is buzzing in cambodia.
eating a garden hose can blur a cherry pie.
weeding the water freshens the unused cans of oil.