DON'T TALK ANYMORE


Pomade is--it's the future of these cupboards

The quiet in an empty island house

The middle of a series of very long tunnels
All circling a massive cranium w/skin attached

A giant drain

The comforter is thrown against the window shades

The wedge of a man's beard

Are you going to lead with that schooner?

If it's all the same to you, an Atlantic blues on pearls as
ooowedding night

The sticks are made of vessels, dry docked

I remember you as baby, in reverse, your face
growing colder and colder in the Great Lakes sunshine