for an instant or perhaps forever we find ourselves lying on a timeless beach a ribbon or a road or a line shaping the tempo of our heartbeat and breath

faced again with what’s gone hideously to a quieter place the channel that shows the fog moving into your arms.  From Jack Spicer’s gutted radios as if sound were perfect motions roving the interior body the duration.  Beat warm dimensional kneeling on air.  Somewhere in static tapping feet to a half-spoke rosary however badly love will go looking for the many masks of its hundred faces.  Its plastic mouths waiting to whisper devotional poems with toad for tongue I still love you or wandering through the ether from ear to ear years after.  Become someone else’s empire.  Become cosmic hostage.  All sphincters contract at the gush of verbal lava.  Synchronize alarm.  Breathe heavily.