They came out jagged
as he rolled over. They came...

Here, there
patterns scoot on concrete...

First, I hear the curtains drawn back. Next,
the door's distant creak and the rustle...

If winds could know,
they would know it...

I saw it flying on a banner behind a plane
over our school assembly, held every Monday...

My mind dribbles
like brine strained through a cheesecloth, I know...

They're playing conga drums and bongo drums and...
in the living room...

We walk down streets
stuffed with houses, rows and rows...

For some, it starts with tea.
Tea slows you. You wait...

Purple was there first
in the thudding darkness...

Mad winds throw dead leaves
toward trees that quiver with...

It's my birthday
I'm in my bathtub...