I)

I am inside a bullet made up of pictures and words
(a story of pragmatics)
Non-the-less, I've been born from an explosive charge

II)

I wave a path through countries, minds, and games.
Berries and stars

III)

Back in Massachusetts, all the sunsets were brief

IV)

I built a habitat around the metal and one small window
inside the base

I watch eras go, bye

V)

Coffee, Television, my canteen life

VI)

Green and other rainbow wardrobes : metempsychosis
Angular cities and endless writers' blocks.
I start to feel trapped in the inevitable killing machine

VII)

Like a car or a farm animal I am sparse in all the wrong places
A committee of dogs or were-wolf parade.
Cloak and dress this wake...please

VIII)

I had a nice idea once
(the room was bare of you)
so I left it on the shelf
next to the gas and head stamps

IX)

Story 2: As it were
consisted of you and poached threads
a comedy of notes.
My perfect decision, places just beneath my knees

X)

Story 2: Sheepskin, cheap gin, and a Falmouth hospital
Pierced by bullets and grazed in the sun.

XI)

Get back in my dreams, and out of my face.