will you deposit yourself in
for fruitful—you carry your cloak like a dead child
no mouth will navigate teeth to harbor.
We’re forced into grave positions the way animals barned
during wind’s high-pitched whine that wins the ground’s kitty
of tree and tree-whittled houses.
How can I reconcile the asylum you treasure in your mouth
for its crazy indictments—that you said that. You disembowel
my vowel-constructed vow. Here kisses what you point to
to imposter here. Thus the appeal of gloves
you pimped off other hands. A boat toward an orgy of waves
outranks anchor, so we are far from the field
green detects and takes. Marked card of a field.
We’ll catch nothing this way.