A MEASURING STICK

division of time -- the realist intrudes
as if giving the other -- a glass eye

to measure by -- a time of layering stiff
ordinates -- fat capsules smooth words

relations -- are heavy habits honed to
re-animate fleshiness -- dead spots lack

ur motion and time -- re-released sounds
in unitary bits -- bytes -- morals, verbs

timely advice chomps on tendons trapped
where the passion begins and zeal ends

intravenes -- separates -- fragments drop
leaves -- happyface residue of pixel corps

bodies -- coming upon a crushed heart theory
channeling -- several hot features to select

daily pretties of facile news -- puddings
some feasting upon the unsaid -- the living

    

       somewhere in your other self

a thought is riding

         on the crosstown

a line was is maybe has been

                             and i was

and was going  

               but there was a storyline

no i haven't forgotten

           the screen version

     the better part of my self crushes

the green stalks      considers the you

     riding on the L

                       on the D 

i was going down and

i am a story going down    recalling

              you were the good version

and had a thought of how it was

                   there was another outcome

we came to that

       it was on the A or the B

going up, and when on the street

in the predictable rain

               it would come to

this (A or B)

        you said what was something

(important)   looked distracted

                        did you not

see

               i mean i might

    have been embarassed

what they call pregnant in Spanish

                    but it wasn't that

moment

             nor was it the version i

dreamt up for a poem

          something you wanted

                  it will not be   not what

i saw with the function of sight

                             so telling

you had a story as usual

     a risk factor

                           no i mean

      the story of the face

the hands

              how finally

but not predictably     you sigh



               there was a distraction

i put my

             hand      on your chest 

These monographed lines
are palms lacking fire
the fille is wavering
in linked elements
acids benign waters
would it be clearer
to you as unglyphed
surfaces would it

be bolder in relief
for flesh artistry
to cull the suburban
character, to be on
a plane of pure purple
searching for what

can't it be and where
and what time was it
in public like this
some churches can't be
said some templates
are lacking composure.