The sky resembles something
with something behind it.

That’s the fascination
of the snowglobe

or bottle-garden.
I net the snow the fence the bean-tree wall

glancing.

And to remove myself from scene
I flew outside sky.

*

To re-enact the effort of my thought
I left the house

and retroactive slammed transcendence
inside metaphor.

A disintegrate pocket of memory

grew from a braided mess
rooted in curious warrenings

and sent halloos.
Trying to walk out of there. You can’t.

*

Entirely inward, I
waged war

between my memories.
Bombed out a house or hut.

And I alone escaped
and did a thing again

covered a dark patch on my face with cream

*

I was grown again out of my eyes
in skin, and covered up the past

God presided president and replaced god
and in my skin I humbled and rebelled.

I am a glamorous blistering garment
and poisoned the strong world.

On the rooftop 5 hilly gardens of moss
and what among the brown

a furor hid secret from me.
My name is following.