by having offered these
confines of this room

these doors open the
ones made of rice on the carpet
ones made of spiders collected in jars, the

ones that have no names and are without their
door-ness which defines them as something which
can be opened, without

a definition
there are no places to look up to,
no sky to find names in, no
pond to look down on, no

wonder days have appeared streaks
of light on a screen projected as a movie without
in the theatre, the joke
is all this, is, indeed
wondrous-waterfull information on the rice of reality, flowers
replaced with grains
when it was too dry in Tibet to bring a full
living bouquet

and to always toss a palace in snow,
impossible, right? Well
perhaps the syllable slanted
against the mountain a \
on the ability to attend anything, slowly
weight of the entire museum about to fall
down on the brains of mice, when

off the puppets went and \
was a transparent ? where nothing
breathed, now these

doorways begin to resemble, language
as they splice their ways
through air-holes, peep
inside, intestines
of the delivery truck

each and every sigh
filled with bacteria, helps
relieve any other critical
nightgown depository for investigation
significance portrays, light at the
end of a


targets jut from barn fences
at the perceiver who might not recognize, thought,
made of wire runs through bodily, hush

hush now secrets might destroy the crayon, o
yes they do
with one foul blow to the dialectic, spinning
tornadoes by the wick,
juts from the top of the skull

eyes turn red
round and round in their faces, isn’t
this fun,
can’t hear you



2 thoughts on “Offered

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s