rook takes knight, paw knocks lock. or hiccup of smoke & covered in paint, violet. very fond. returns goodbye hugs for store credit. then again, touches on noses & we could meet strangers by pouring fifteen to twenty percent of our body weight onto them—if we are / have bodies—& this would require not talking, that’s good, i haven’t talking for strangers. i have deep water in my apartment hordes of water molecules in my apartment & each day a man without english shakes a grocery store scanner at the floor of my apartment. he sings fados to the moss that is almost to the door. now the walls are moss, the ceiling moss. floor is—as ever—lava. i like it when a word shows up in everybody’s poem. but psychic tin radio only hears fados. gummed up its ears at the end of the west wind’s song. still mute without you shooting off blanks without you. if you have a gun, blanks are the right thing to shoot. scotomization is the right thing to write in pale icing between layers of birthday cake. wouldn’t still go to sea for you. don’t think i wouldn’t still go to sea for you. head green hands blue—