Vespers (34)

intention gathers energy to emerging centers of the self left out
to space. one writhes in being
what one has become. one has bequeathed to the unlikely successors
(whose criterion is to last)
employs a list of fated tools
and documents what happens next.

for now I think
my sleep once watched
differs from its own act.
I am an evidence who has slept poorly
due to travel next in line.

directional futility is better left unsaid.
ribbons confine shared preposition
to unlikelihood.

what kind of window do you think you will miss moist.
oh rainbow ones, she said in dialect.

put simply, no one wants to practice
anything. one wants unexplained success
to fiter down or to to have been perspired
into a consciousness for better
or for worse.

slide into home is not a prayer.
nor is a simulation of the lord.
nor is a pantomime one talks up
to aspire.

the fever one has notice must come back
will aftercare its way to points
just distant from the faintest notion
that made our helping fit the definition of suffice.