from Panic Poems (Homage to Joseph Cornell)
panic is a luxury he said this a long very or not so long really and how to coagulate the skin-curds to make them curds no one puts them in a box for presentation thinking. weary-toothed and scrabbling over the ice solder the dam to wetness and retrospective delight. he said. he revealed home in the water. I feel subject to certain frequencies charging the self-same duration (duration of selfness) with squeak and tremor. there were people voting and then the town cracked open crenellated like a swim toward radiance. what radiance. what slow swim. what entire cracking does one mention when the boxed-in royalty slips to the concrete and then is it broken or is it a retrieved yet sarcastic dimension no one had expected. someone I know who said to put a piece of black distance here which explains the whole no predicts the decisive regeneration well no indicates ventricle shimmer in the sog of youth. please don't make me say it. it is not blasphemy. keep quiet, feralize the punk in the corner, and tell those children whosever they are. Believe me, it is and/or is not this couth unreliance on thin shapes whose texture is rarely felt.