Like printed fields overlain with gestural paint
The forests of symbols lie within the temples
She asked but deflected the propositions
You don’t look for the absence of traffic cones
It just comes to you
She jacked the prettily purloined
She sealed the monstrous reticule
That she had won in the DOT raffle

They don’t fold these things on television
They don’t detach them from the hospitals
Rabbits and termites ingest their appointed burrows
As a lemur allows to escape its inveterate yawp
Or a distributor its formalities

The smokers my people assemble on the patio
You don’t look for the absence of enjambment they grumble
The nation is seized by a mania
Checking for pain in the lymph nodes

She bemoans the decay of the serviette
Surely he must have meant the objective world
The sounds are confounded the words confused
Surely he meant