Late by ocean that I would later run,
with bed spray, and a light box, and a fire and ferocity,
and greed, anger, and dirt under nails, worldwide by my own fierce journeys through time, through light as a course light, a time and temple light to enter to me too.
I corner the gas of light. I know it. I taste it. I dream over it.
For all light is as a drooling dream, to have it said as pure,
become as a ribbon through the teeth, as truth. What my dear layers
might be worth when my like as far my love.
I light through writing what you cannot see, think as dumb in writerly world.
Nah writing world with is life, that we cannot see,
the frame around us in a yard, where I can dividing into coconuts.
Work as time would light of me, onto ages,
into city aboves: skylines, ball field lights.
I don’t know anything. I don’t know anything, and its going to
mean something that way some day.