occurrence of the day

in veils, whir

of the hospital

laundry mat. Whirring.

Dandelion wine

bitter with pearls.

Ball bearings, wood,

ball bearings. A meal,

intestinal clockwork,

circle of the radio dial

ending, twice. Noon’s

pitchforks. Garlic

hoof. Coins, on a table,

an unworn lorgnette. Initials

carved into the wood

of wood. Unaltered

in the colander, eggs.

Rain drops transmitted

via piano wire do

telephone poles.

Nostril, bone hole,

as in birds. Blood

worms. Incommunicado:

light bulb and black marker

minuscule, public restroom.

For the wicked. Martens,

scattering. Abandoned

cars, wraiths. Assemblies

of shadows, cordillera.

If categorized, all

gradations of black–

Milk of magnesia.

Streetlight, caterwaul,

aliyah of chimeras.

Paramour’s first regret,

blade of departure. Ice,

leaf vein, meandering, flame,

acetylene shakes. Coats,

moth-lined and great. Bouillon

cubes in a box. Suicides,

wind chimes’ stories. Steeped

tea. Rosewood, bergamot,

yang-yin, daddylonglegs.

From silver samovars,

caviar. Fish skulls, eggshells,

coffee grounds, rinds,

in the garden, planted nails.

of exes and spots

the last of the summer flies

buzz in circles on the window sill.

Their evasion of months of cobwebs

and fan blades have earned them

this much. A final hurrah at the warped

window panes, the manic whir

of their magnetic wings;

they drop like anise seeds

and dry into caskets of lint in the light

of late November. They suspected the air

outside was warmer when it wasn’t.

Heat being a factor of magnification.

The physics of glass, sun, and angle

stir the soup of air as invisible as chopsticks.

When the physics of memory

and tables of elements lie.

Same as ever

belladonna casts off her batik scarves

and the fields outside wash to ochre,

umber, sienna, sepia, dun; (sash

weights ripening inside the walls)

a knocking heard from within. Outside

the harvest’s opulence of gourd and blackberry

is revealed by the naked black limbs

of the trees gesture to the lovers

walking their dog up the grass hill where

there is an acorn tree and a hundred

and sixty degree view.

Portraiture of cities,

or knots in the tails of kites,

trail vines of smoke that empty off clouds

or shadows of clouds lit up like war.

The radio tower’s aerials blink

their single red eyes

to the contrails of jets

that are trying to spell



From that day, one vow deliriously broken. Waking

state: when eyes are naturally chameleon-like

and the alarm, merely a type, that once levitated

Byzantine emperors, now confined to a dumb metal

ringing, really a cry for help. Another day, oncoming.

To, or not, butter the hair. Breakfast of dried palm leaves.

Tea with milk, on the balcony, above the city-fresco

too many times well-captured in paintings modern

and classic, of a certain middle terranean school,

struck with a polluted haze. Bored commuters

graduated to solitude of their singular cars, moveable

coffins, free to groom themselves at every third

traffic light. She carried with her an ague of the

heart. Never to ease, alone cease, with baths of jazz,

lavender water, milk of roses. Like the haunted

in a badly written story, naiveté is believed with a dash

of over-desired suspense. Perhaps this time it’s

a mummy in the grandfather clock not disappearing

with each stroke of time. Counting, as if it ends.

Colored either bright red, or red gone orange, when

poppies cease to bloom, hats become sought out

from stores of fashionable repute. Rain holds its own

therapeutic value. Coldness. Downpours separate one sea

from another, one Ligurian, the other, not. What’s

left to be built in a day. Pasquinades, a greatcoat,

the number plate of some obscure lodging. Something

shared in common by us, buildings, angels, weather. Falls.




coins left on a plastic gin blossom cigarette scarred bench, near a pay phone, bus station

coins thrown, dropped, or left in any park fountain eyed mysteriously, greedily, by children

coins the color of the sea found within the failed cobblestone street of the river beach

coins unattended on the pool table shining resplendent in hopes to attract woman flies

coins tucked into cards specifically made for card coin tucking

coins mettle tested by the old man’s remaining teeth old bullets shot in the ground

coins left on the formica table top for a waitress named Sandra mimicking her black eye

coins given at halloween to unsuspecting and until that night, apple haters

coins dropped into the busy city street, with miscellaneous rubbish, cleverly evading rust

coins collected and never spent as hats bought and only wished to be worn

coins that thought they were merely tokens so lived a life of reasonless, sexless, solitude

Coins        p.2

coins or lilies of-the-valley sold by street vendors both envying shade bought by umbrellas

coins without banks and nowhere else to go coinS cOins Coins coIns coins coins



She wore her lipstick like an off-centered kiss. She wore her lipstick like a misplaced LOVE stamp. She wore her lipstick like a bird would its newly sharpened beak. She wore her lipstick like pancake syrup (Mrs. Butterworth’s). She wore her lipstick like curdled wine. She wore her lipstick with an aftertaste of his collar’s starch. She wore her lipstick as a blue sunset tipped over inkwell. She wore her lipstick as a dual rash/blemish. She wore her lipstick as rose petals dried in the leaves of a dictionary. She wore her lipstick like a recently sucked tootsie pop (shooting injun on the wrapper). She wore her lipstick as she did the slight wax of his inner ear. She wore her lipstick like fresh gummy worms. She wore her lipstick in velvet theater curtains barely parted. She wore her lipstick as the night percolates glue. She wore her lipstick with a tinge of cinnamon burnt toothpicks. She wore her lipstick like duck’s blood soup. She wore her lipstick as a handless watch of her oral desire. With her lipstick she wore baubles of invisible spittle. She wore her lipstick like a man kisses a mirror. She wore her lipstick as the bridle of her lover’s finger. She wore her lipstick like a jack-o-lantern never could. She wore her lipstick as newly birthed starfish. She wore her lipstick like a tongue she couldn’t hide. She wore her lipstick like a thorn in a tango dancer’s shoe. She wore her lipstick like marbles in a blender. She wore her lipstick as crimsoned autumn leaflets. She wore her lipstick a tightly tied shoelace the hue of cut-off circulation. She wore her lipstick in a mood of overripe fruit. She wore her lipstick as a foot does its habitual nudity. She wore her lipstick a malted’s striped straw. She wore her lipstick as one would her fleshy rood. She wore her lipstick as a valentine for whom. She wore her lipstick as much as her lipstick wore her. She wore her lipstick as cigarette butt return addresses. She wore her lipstick as a mouthflower, a lovesmudge, genital peppermint. She wore her

lipstick stuck like candy apple goo. She wore her lipstick in two shades of lip. She wore her lipstick like asses awkwardly smooch chairs. She wore her lipstick like raspberries kept in a change pocket.

Everything is spoken for almost (watercolor) by Bridget Baker
Everything is spoken for almost (watercolor) by Bridget Baker

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