I bleed a little, peyote tea waits in the refrigerator, a Ferris Wheel rolls and rolls over the highway after the miscarriage, we search for rings with missing stones, unmatched earrings sell our gold, ride the Ferris Wheel bigger than Paris, my parents pray for us, I play Dylan's "Spanish Boots" over and over, the sunroof fills with stars like watching a film of strangers I recognize but don't really know Schuyler says you can't get at sunset naming colors between the liars trees and shopping carts we buy a house, cry in bed, leave the child unnamed pink lemon pearly blue white
Off Lows, Weakness Remains: Meditation #3
In the PartyStore/PierOne/Target/Kohls parking lot
find a desert willow among the shopping carts,
walk around it sunwise repeating:
I am the avant-garde, I am the avant-garde, I am the avant-garde
DIY, DIY, DIY
Imagine a chart of median family incomes as big as the parking lot—
use it to determine where to abandon your car.
I default, I default, I default
Your mind is a blood blister rising on your thumb, a ladybug.
Among these shopping carts, you fortress. Among plastic bags you affirm:
Lo! the light from desert trees does not speak in numbers, costs us nothing.
Here, as in a butterfly garden, everyone crawls before flight.