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Four Poems

Correspondence Recovered

Upon the comal crop, winter, I separate what’s mine. Mimic me. 

The burn barrel houses the maul, tetanus lipped in termite corner.
I turn static before the story. Lice in the eye. Lice in the rag.

                            forsake letter 
                            to form field
                            geese landing

In the ink posturings of the orient, I mourn—a fetish. 

Black font stitches white none.
Grey birds unstitch their form, abstracting the field, blotting the paper.

As watcher, I acquire their debt and recover the flown script.
I heel a ‘V’ over cock scrawl in fenced dirt. I edit the hectic domestics. 
Missive upon terra is recompense. Repent. Record.



felled bird 
and a sentence dropped on fragmentation
in constant pose
in compost
in decompose and how to be rare in front of another
the crows, they are innocent

is the locket walked into
to place the face or to pull the sheet over
is the coming of value is the ‘each year the light changes to save itself’

is the locket looked out of 
world hung around the neck 

every time a door opens
a flash, a glint off metal


Handed Down

Impossible to cut the mouth out.

Negative limb,

explain the day.

Hand me down or 

hang me over.

Covet something,

or leave without 

having ever 




ashamed before

your preservation from oblivion
your enduction of balmy fragrance

in transition to flue

the dutch door 

I could have mourned 

I could have stoked the furnace

as I do now 
the proper bird

at my window