This one is simply a list.
A list of disconcerting occurrences.
Women who fly on separate planes to meet in strange cities.
Poppies with their black follicle centers.
Chicken eggs with a little blood on the shell,
like a stain on the sheet.
Print house dresses washed.
And in the wind, torn at the hem.
Pneumatic alliances, the plane too low.
A drinking glass pitched off a table
and cracked, but with its blow to a head unmarked,
bleeding inside a drop.
Bird coo, too regular.
A parrot trained to the French national anthem.
Bumblebees, lion markings burned black.
Stabbing the window, an otherwise horrible fly.
Brain dust, brow furrowed with electric violin practice.
Seeds planted too close in a furrow,
tomorrow because of the dream.
Giving orders, taking orders.
The wearing of black, the wearing of mirrored sunglasses.
Dust, haze, ants on a naked woman.
Lipstick on a man.
With a pen knife, manipulation of a developing Polaroid.
Periodic rinsing through the night of a menstrual sponge.
The days and the nights, sulfuric
between golden and leafy.
Between the sun and the moon, discharge.
Between flights in an airport, dizziness.
Black, yellow, red, yolk, ink, the beautiful striations
after the sun sets invisible, as without love.