it’s these entrails of elsewhere admit me an “I”: spearmint,

a moment of tongue, enthralled;

fresh-cut grass, flirting

openly snakey the nostrils; a dewdrop, to disappear coeval of

into tinges of vinho verde & miller

high life, & all their ferny mustard-light offerings are & stinks peace.

--& now I am become a cornucopia of worlds.

“then am I / a happy fly”

earth as moment, as capsule encapsulate.

I’m walking across the castlegrey apartment lot

to fling empties into the bin as if a toast to

our planet when I realize, then & there, I promise

to let my teeth rot out my skull in tribute.

of that honeyed air

that around the pear boughs twines

& twists also myself into a Jolly Rancher

wrapper of the sour-apple variety, & hardly do I know

“I” by sight, save by these rough sketches of

Cricket-Skull, drug

from a wilderness in which

the “I” cannot exist. it comes as “oozy woods,” as

tourniquet thereof, filled with daffodils--the most withered

of which I swish then spit

like mouthwash into a red robinbreast’s gullet, hoping

the resulting gravy rehydrates

modernism’s wilted eye with the grace of a wink.

anything & everything that breaks

a binary is the bone I want to be chewing on