Dry tip golden
as sunken
points
of arrows (voices)
a phantom’s near
to dissolving night
swarm
of locusts
down iron post
in cross
of wind
all erasure
of William
Carlos Williams
stars unfold
throughout pendants
and
no further
cool the tendons
advancement
in splayed
crepe myrtle
tall teetering
voices tonight
how many
plots
are gained
from a book
of his poems?
dumb
fuck-heads leaving
no ruins
a stick
is pointed
at the empty
corner
a master-work (withheld)
claw-foot bathtub
extra bleed
integral illusions
of relief
shoulder to
shoulder gunmen
form a cube
scene in
nearest sky
thread splits
from sharkskin
waistcoats
back-view
jolted
off the hook
the several
sounded out
munitions
in my voice