kind of neural handshake
binds brilliance? What
   word convergence
      causes trembling
   catapults towards
proximity to
   itself would
bend? What
   quiet recklessness
      adherence to exposure
   quips for eyes' aches? What
         grooved slippage
      through a moth net into
         an ear I spoke
            as an abstract imp
      hushes.  As when falls
   are blushes, plucked
      chords of harp
   -strings shuddering
      their harp. What
         slosh of ions leaps from
      breath to scream
         to sleep
            a ray of re in
         rings chords fingers
      stroked set like sediment
         in a river's ear.  Like
            hunch; One's first sense of
         resemblance.  What
            plush droop of petal
               could cherish you? What
            graced gutturals
               conflict?  What
                  shrewd profusion
               of spilt love
            reeks like what
         sunk stems pushed out
           into their saving
      crystal? What
   calamity is
today's concern
   slips out what net
      swept it.  What
         flower doesn't blossom
      in perpetual war.  What
         dragged thumb sweeps
            sleep into Aeolian dream.
               (if a seam scars our reels.) 
            What object distant
                embrace eyes give veers
                   off its set path
                for fears.  Which is to say
             a name sings
               sings was an
             astonishment at drops
         are sheer.  What
            flatter flatness winks
         at the horizons of
      this great diasporic event
         of rounds of waves
            of flicked materials
         set unflagging
      blooms in fugues. What
         new thing is furling
            around the absent
         center?  What
            form purls to cochlea
         through canal.  What
            grace calls itself matters
               only to itself, as strings sing,
                  as the vanishing
                     point of a ripple
                  pulses.  What
               could be flatter
                  than alternatives to
               wordlessness.  What
                 will be gaunter gleams
                 as statute edges,
              forms of kinds of
           images of streams. What
              past your bird-song braids
                 brims with sheepish ink, ant
                nations crushed under
                   a dance's dancer's foot.  What
                      “come” posed to you
                   its gash of wordliness,
                      a harpish scripture shrewdness
                         brandished like a piece
                      of pollen, dust as lapsed
                         gold god goaded
                      into a sigh of what
                   desire appetized the mind.
                      As in: the frank pillow
                   Is domineering.  What
                fret abets. What
                   song would save itself
                      from wetness mornings
                         on the tulip stalk,
                      from seams of rust broke
                   past the bulb's thick bark.
               Ail lair engitic tomb
            of a repetitious blossoming
               up. What
                  name still suits
               that sickness sings? What
           blue ensues now
        the abject rings? Content
           yourself to it, what
        banished news of it
     becomes you, dubbed, bowls
        you over like a foe's
     grief.  A blank muscling
        forth of blind shining
     now reminds itself
  its pith sinks surface-
     ward for ear-oceans of
  its oil.  What
note doesn't
   fire breath.  What
      void's in key. What
    starved lung couldn't
cite its bullet. What
   chord in alien ears
      could please so easily?