mid of some night

i blur back on words i

thought(s) were mine to raise

sometimes, the plot of community

from unnatural page comes unnatural ringing forth

to love my machinery without wanting it to be a part of

june spoon poem 1

Hey, let's tame the tundra.

We'll have a flicker of a find

trying to time our absence out there.

But, where will we signal a wick to flicker forth all our debris?

Let's be occupants of our own boat.

Look! There's the print of our hearts and a nail sailing in the snow!

How did that get into the room?

I don't know, but if our hands are certain, we can spell our names onto the bed of a board

and hang it on that single tree over there.

I think they will continue to signal themselves in the world.

I hope they can help alter the skies.