going around in circles
fascinated with the metalanguage of self-reference
and jejune metapoetry
I can't take you out of the
not even thinking of you or
whatever cult you show up in dreams
and quotes
I need footnotes
Can I believe them?
I'll confess, I don't believe in art.
precocious checks and balances negate each other
wet black bow down, one by one on the el,
wrinkled drapes on metacarpals
on rails, waiting for the weight to bring dust
back to dust
i tack it on
i bring dust back to dust
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