Changes Of

news ought to have leaked what was seen on a space
of a hill-side through rattling on pastures of grey
utility risking ends of a thumb
teal sky grew a heavy—and scented with rum
of the cavernous shale of a birth turning sun
and all life together knot-sum of a green
forming of a ripened spoon lofty a leak

I don’t know what part of the past anyone means

where they cut off the woods
its fuzz runs smears for flow or roams canned it
to lengths of the stuff and the following law
of fire ran and worked itself up quiet walls

why there hasn’t been time for murmurs to build
that’s always the space when its utility floating
through what has not been the ghost of a crime
of any of these thunders under a shade of pine
but get the chimes out of the wind, blue may burn
the pasture all over bridges of worms
of grass-blades as theft, not to mention a thickened
rim of air on a run aground of zeros
thick and hard explanations with a construction’s lip

it rusts on a charcoal as someone fattens a boot
fruit fly tasteful sometimes flavoring roofs
soot ceilings after wielding table-top split
wooden blue skin mist of a breath into
the trash that flees from a touch of the land
and less than the hand with which rib-cages expand

does rattled sun-knowledge know what it has with thought

no one may know more care so as to leave the
winks to gather rivers of knowing from waters
of what won’t fact with what they’ve been
right up to
this non-excuse held in a vase of cut outs

I wonder you didn’t hear a forest about

the rest of it was that it did grow off what
it knew was just leaning through what it held in, to show
fields over a wall of felt cotton roads
told to who should run up and with lemon spatulas grow—
all the youth chattering mouths of living
hunted lumps of targetable yet driven lines

someone saw you in what it was, was did now

someone justice nodded headless up and down
knowing lightning of weighted growths bribed
by a hush of large rusted wooden melted times of sight
eyes switching lifts wrestling spine shafts to this infection
left those stressed berries in shrewd impact petting
ripened lawns of what grace then un-named

someone a riddled warped of a lime wooden gutter

named by a thrift-swift of hatched by needless
round-fulls of allotted sponges oranges of freed
feeding bouts of all of them—wild utility
raised speech birds stone on when tamping with a
way to eat an ear of corn round stones of motions
nibbling on a stolen swollen tight shoe of sweet
cut layers of rain

it’s a dice side way to
justice providing nature with wills of
living forces by hand leading tomorrow

time wishes shrewd-reeds lifted perpetual
cows of air from the dumpsters—no one tunnels
beside looked-hooks of solemn-purpose-less urgency

time wished it knew math of what talks of a known
flock of location utilities another gripped thing—
grows laser-berries in foggy rasp-warehouses a spot
of the older-strewn tablet-knew lending willful
crop ending measure daylight of a spider
not stuck on a chair of fresh dawn, a
shower power outage on, off again, not strange, didn’t

tell you of the nameless
tell of the told you
once not long after

we erased

by almost
provoked doorways lodged
mist by roses of an earth
by asking if knowing of any rumored
mirrored picked off
table top tea spoon
speeches leading us
gladly to tell if
we knew rust from smeared years hauled
by some utility—but
those were all gone

someone didn’t say where they had been

someone went

I’m sure—I’m sure as light as a switch
someone spoke to a room with a door, let us see
lamb-marks didn’t grow up with any utility-speaking-locations,
fuzz could’ve done, but raise caring faces

if someone thinks the rooms are old with tiles of grown
wind wild with mistaken heights of here in a
list of picked rattle snake rivers naked
waters of a dew in mourning—if
clear in a sunshine breaks warm with vines of a
light wet with lengthening rivers picking forgotten out
of a used bin for utility, someone
looks in and round the flanks out of
sight tanks troll protruding grounds
of gated community, nothing
more than uttered heards of
cow futures when
boots said time was keeping a bird
away from its stressed out legs of walking
well with us and—thirsty in
a sweat for
pickets the tillage of feared tactics wandering a
smile mile lined with thought thought
lifted and pounding routes with distances, blurred
turns of sunset towns, shouting
tender lending answers to voice a low
whisper, wilted with talking long beside a

knowledge of what wouldn’t
displace among helpless
sounds of unlikely clouds which surround the mountains
of non-deployable allowance
within what becomes tomorrow of
even-less rights
within the friendliness ability of
helpless reality of people when
looking at time
pick off unhealthy
habits of restraint
created complaints over-crowded with rain
cloud-cities mixed with watered layers of exiting
streets’ metallic-leaf placated feels for either
kindness or thieves, visionary or disappearing bees

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