Biting off your own tongueBlistering boils, stumps of burnt hairChopping your hand off with a dull axeDrowning in a swimming pool of blood and pissDrinking dog puke from a brown paper bagEating the intestines of your uncle three months deadFalling into barbwire covered…

Uproot everything, a muddy hole when done

Baby who battles with devils

This grey is going to kill me

Outside cool fresh morning tiny fingers

rinse plate cup glass spoon bowl soapy water

Tears and tears and tears flowed

When I come to we are by the lake

Mother hated a crucifix. Graven, she said. Evidence that Catholics weren't saved, just stuck in ceremony. Jesus had risen and anyone who had to pray in Latin, count beads or confess to robed men who took orders from a monarch didn't know…

"seventy five degrees longitude submerged in holy rivers out of my mind emerge anointed paramahamsas"

Gravity? What does that have to do with writing or with this improbable tether of blue marbles?

The abundances of age/ are of commodities/ no known demographic values:

It was May of my senior year in college. Everybody was coasting, knowing what they were going to be doing the next year, or that they’d be doing nothing. Except for one guy, Tom.

she shivered in the ceasefire like a virginal nude brought to life.

Tough boys with loose pants come out at this hour; their long chains swing from low pockets, their virile scent bites like steel in the cold night.