when you walk across the soft dirt you are in the wheel tracks. a shipping container exerts no force on your path. the stairs at this point are still wooden, scaffolded in iron to the blue above. ten storeys of stairs in crate-wood against the iron palings and it’s time to empty the plastic bag. nine am before the temperature comes above freezing. eyes hurt without sunnies. vents stacked shine in the earth. can you look at them and not think about the circumference of a body? and what the dead want of us. and what the dying make of their new surroundings. you will stop to pull me back once your own dream is over. the sky’s not empty it’s tensile. the sky’s not empty it’s a pie-crust. the sky’s not empty it’s the skin of all its snakes.   

a little bell is ringing softly under the air conditioning vent. I hope that you are sleeping easily. a little bell is ringing softly. the union poster curls. I hope to return your book to you having read it. a little bell is ringing softly and the clock ticks, muffled. I hope that something holds you through the moment it comes, so that you don't fall. a night does come. we sleep very lightly while you feed, and then return as adults to the wordless world. the doors hiss softly as they open and then close. I cannot hear any footsteps through the glass. I hope that you are sleeping easily each night, and that you wake slowly without fear. 

I'm getting tired of these wee prose poems in a sub-hejinian sub-scalapino mode. I haven't got shit on either of them. it's a series of gestures - atmospheric setting detail blurred into the bodily, non-sequiturs, irregular pronoun use, confessional lines not pursued, faintly surprising rhythms. its crap. 

I've seen leaves in webs before but I've never seen such an elegant necklace. you could be riddled with it before they ever found out. droplets fall from each of your spokes. your awning the wind. I could be wishing you free of pain while you need to take care of a hollow for mildew. I wouldn't do that. behind us sunlight reflects off the green glass and back through the leaves that become a glimmering plane. this needs defence, which is why no one will defend it. though I think she wrote it so I could copy it. and now I am walking past a spaceship renovation receiving a call that he's a misogynist. that's all I've ever done. nearly home. it's coming out your ears. 

"Whatever makes you feel free, that's what you should do. It's really simple."

in the span of ten minutes you can mount and dismount an elephant many times over. you can sew up the mouth of a full sleeping bag or run two four minute miles and have a heart attack. but if you have two contractions you're still not in labour. and you cannot make and drink a cup of tea.

pejorocracy/kakistocracy