"Inner resources, all seasons."
"Take note, no hand holds quietly.
Anticipations accumulate, a suitcase of sleep, lockets
dispersed at random into the crowd
of swooning big-city teenagers, like something a robin
gnawed open.
That sweater imprint on the inside
of your wrist, that sweat, that day.
The ease of awe, the dull throb of the dull throb,
of again, again.
When we wake, we ask, lack, we wake
wearing black, making all bets with a poker face,
in fits and starts.
A constructed city, at the very least.
No winter is, is winter fixed, populated you.
Jackhammer lilacs, uncompromising, in a daze,
shatter, mispronounced, or pronounced, or begin again,
this time with feeling.
Take note, we have been pronounced,
closing this sky like a lidded purple lip.
Now we are proposed, as if we could leave,
as if the weather were some kind of practitioner
of my [INAUDIBLE],, some kind of monopoly.
It's a transaction, all you've got to offer is in your hand.
It really is quite hard to match the shapes and colors,
as if you would match the shapes and colors,
as if it were in season."
I suppose when one has stolen a line from someone
who's present, like [INAUDIBLE],, one should mention it.