I want to rip paper
currency off the walls
build upon these misunderstandings
the garage man is missing
always
it begins when I leave the room
both directions out of house and body
I like the asps your eyes make
before I can get lightness
puppets tumble in the washer
I carry a few coins’
bright songs churning my pocket
tones of last gestures’ terrible array
hungry to get bright cloud I’m headless
I carry a rock scoured white
why there’s a driven word for it
and North American equivalent
a stop action uncertainty of markets
restlessly tying into consequence
the manner in which people talk
how my father
refuses to give his cat a name
whereas although my deficit is
I look into each thing