A little bit from letters to unfinished J.
In a little while, I will be wanting to neglect something
within my grasp, long noise of yawning.
Sibilance and cheese and saucy looking pie prints
enter the confessional.
Instinct reminisces prettily.
Prawns fully formed elicit feedback
on legions of eighth notes aspiring to be whole tones.
Ministers of holographic space warm the confetti pool
before it's tossed into small pits,
without immunity to ridicule.
All coughing noise lacks balance, taste,
and gentian violet.
Piracy infects the tear ducts.
Pluck and whimsy brighten claustrophobia.
Promise me you'll toss a world my way, negotiable as skin.
That's my mood on diction, same thing
as the water and the jar--
inseparable.
Twin reeds play at tethering known melody
until it frills the place with overtones.
What are monikers equipped for?
Achievement of a breakpoint.
The rhetoric accomplishes this waves of grain behavior.
All of us swaying to breezes, understood
as grammar, perfectly informed, perfectly splintered.
How handsome seeds are likely to become.
What hasps these instants are.
What bread.