the snare of last night
the tug of the present then
the thing done five years ago
in the canyon tomorrow’s dinner
going badly already root
sprouts from small wounds
I awake with many heads hungry
take showers at odd times
these small failings lenticels
where the atmosphere is exchanged
I take shape in their language
a millennia of yellow flowers then
wilt the way I ruin the earth
just by living
watch national geographic
eat cubes of squash in bed
leave tears in the soup bowl
say I am doing something
when I persist what does
this make me? I run
towards a flutter
of sparrows in the park
madly double over
at the tree-of-heaven
giving itself
to the cement
little clusters
surround my feet