It's the blue face,
that's slick...

Dear midnight,
I dislike your jumbling chimes...

I like knees that do not knock,
that do not stay...

I like bikes with sticks
caught in their spokes...

I like trees with lots of leaves,
And dogs that sniff and bark at things...

Let's go back to the rocks again,
where the wind is thick and the foam is slick...

Seagull takes the wind:
an elegant, arcing lilt...

A spore contorted
on the floor, the porous...

Come, let's be dignitaries of Spring.
Let's toss innumerable red bottles...

I blink.
Iridescence coats my inner eyelid...

Pill, compel,
Parnell, and yokes...

I clump you with
the thickly spoken...