There is confession and then there is Tripoli.

Which is to say that confession communicates the least.


All this language training, and then it's the 'bas-reliefs of earth.' There's no scale for speaking absent the target. A mass of curls, a human project, a boy to speak to –– the mottos exhaust the givens.

And then there's this motto: Candor is the brightest shield.

I want nothing more than direct address, though it delivers nothing more than a person, and that won't be enough.


A motto, out of deep water, and then abandoned to quotation, as say the 'white creature of chalk pounded', or material sum. These examples won't explain it, and can't infuse like a drumbeat these four limbs you're still testing, and testing.

Grow old with me, laboratory.


Coactivity is the evidence of trust. This son, in his busybody quickening, could hatch societies from all of this sudden planning.

I'm only a bondsman in my heart, and my instruction could never be fair to this exuberance: "first ideas." And not just mine.


I'm proposing that thankfulness stands apart from decay. It's not a grooming, or unequal reaction to some splintering oak in the backyard. But it's neither indifferent, this positive, furtive strength.

I'm proposing it, as if it were some eternal notion.


That this poetry must assert its vocabulary sub specie aeternitatis.

Spinoza Joke

You can't end a sentence with a proposition.