A mosquito sitting on a swing
bleeds boredom from his upper half and blood fumes from his lower
blood fumes that are almost fire
dangling nonchalantly from the lax geometry

A mosquito with a head full of quiet dust
trying to restrain any hint of social buzzing
trying to seem asleep. Because immunity
takes a long nap in the powerless age and then leaps up and combs its

chest like a slow precipitation of car-exhaust
into the face of passionate pink and red quick knots
which were never meant to prevent the whole flow of blood through the organism,
even if it’s bottom half is a blood-theft.

A powerful and domineering
gentleman of heavy boxes
which is the bed with a mustache
dripping like dehydrated passed-out

The icecube of the bed has
dark veins in the center as if
bluer water
and silly little curlicues buzzing brief outside

My motive is to be a
part of the major form,
a speck or a bit of random
debris for which the mind left chilly

pockets, as if the design were hollow
in order to accommodate all
uselessness internally
as if having an overview could validate stray marks.

Some kind of insatiable piano fell from heaven
In a room full of hot-pink fumes
of course there were complaints, but they shattered when the air did
such prickly little panes of glass

Some kind of violence too obvious to echo
carried on two hooves, trot trot trot
hanging in the middle of the air pink slobber
from the did I mention the piano’s swollen lip?

blue lines open where they weave like wicker
in a bed-rolled ocean meat of ferns
in a bulge-eyed bed-face geometry spilled
from a rolled-up nausea

thumbprints like abandoned rocks