this afternoon's headline:

THE WORLD IS STILL HERE!

/

i.

a fresh earth.

the weight of this hole

ii.

the cry looms suddenly

whole-- a human

form that carries the box

from chasm to chasm;

iii.

we are in awe of this

slender leg & arm; the wheel that spokes

at the center of us soundlessly. love

as the window is cranked.

as the mouth shows in the shallow stream, a tongue or a stone

seem equally tender;

for instance, you

beside me on the bed, wake

to where we are cast along a wire

from the window to the grave, along

a line of skin to where we cannot

go; a water or circuit.

iv.

then to some where in side

the muscle of an always-rotting

room, to where we have forgotten sleep

& begin with the eye in death as a song,

with seam different than the lip,

that draws its heat from a hinge in the sun.