hot before cool and passed

brother to brother—

the break worthwhile

untainted by man

like bottled water will be

and much much purer—

for guzzles earned

when I-25

reached one end to the other

my house to Grandpa’s—

places for play

stumbling throughout and

twitching past The World i dream i know I exist

i wake and

zone in My World lightly as to not let

my body on that i’ve abandoned it to be

humiliated and

tough out what I’m not sure, but must be life:

the medium Worlds communicate

you leave, yet breathe, creasing me with sorrow

slithers’ silence is soothing

(announcing too annoying)

it comes and calms, moving along, knowing that time spirals regardless.

blood

cement

mud

coated with a day’s labor

            building a deck for my Nanny

i know that my hands

            are

            clean

            from his god

and i don’t condemn

and i don’t apologize for

            i can only hmmm:

i’m Him feeling cooked precisely here

            it’s more deliberate that way

                        cumbersome as it’s done

he chokes through his words

            and convinces his wives

                        robust as he’s along

he never borrows energy from the sun

            because he knows he’d only return it inconveniently

            though he looks just hard enough to see its worth

indeed, he is a mean old man

            as that’s how you start

            and he didn’t care—starting there still

i sit when i stand, run when i play.

investing is caressing as human is on the line

and lie

and live

and try

forgiving the trial persecutes the judge

            and do it to be just

            and just because

bounce as the world is explained

“two wrongs don’t make a right”

fixing his tie, the boy pays enough attention for the both

“you’re too mature to intimidate [your] obedience”

gathering the newspaper for the trash, startles the pet out the room

“and wise enough to empathize why you’ve been wronged”

brushing aside final drafts proudly makes room for robes of black

                                                                                or was it cloth of white?

standing up and seeming cheap the boy finds his way through his clumsy eyes

and away from home.

he knew that feelings were all that were important–

they are all that can be honest

always right

and forgetting hypocrisy and humility a cheek rises in effort to know that ignorance is all that can be accused

that stopping there is all that can be wrong

with

lugged voices

            (too many)

and

simple plans

            (waist-high)

i’d gaze through the fences:

backyards throw crumbs between each post

            to escape self-importedly

                        his mediated conversations

                        the unconnected one over there that is his cog

                        the things that perfume for him

                        the sublime vantage of states of the arts

            (but records his popular shows)

talking in words,

looking in words,

thinking in words.

alone, eventually they’ll shut up:

one’s self feels

…and does

            it breezes year round

now clever lusting the all novel innocently

            that’s not sheepishly

lying and not busy later it itches less in the hustle

            numbed until you’ve waned

                        unless you forget

            the

shoulders

            of

giants

i’ve

            scratched my butt

clopping and sopping, fighting unfair

(hug and hug and hug and hug)

(two distinct viewers of light on a train;

perfecting perfection and the properties therein)

i’ve awed the sweat from a crouch-hidden blushing glove

     jump off just in time to avoid being party to a beheading

but

i’ve admired most battles bested by

   positioning

      and foreseeing

that

relegate blows as unnecessary