Many, Many Tickled Parsons

 Ramified. So speechlessly ramified. I owe it to the sun-
 dry real to top off my I with cold feet; here they are
 doing other work. On the level of the consonant I
 feed into the dew. Let this all be memorandum, full stop,
 silly habit. An arbitrage wipes my name away
 from the base point. I smother these periods for you.



A Brand of Quietism We Can All Hang Our Heads On

 Idea: ownership is a refrigerator
 with designs on my selfhood. Yours
 too. I can’t explain it, I just know

 that in English, there is a difference
 between “this poem has an argument”
 and “this poem is having an argument”

 and the ghost puppet judge
 is waiting just around the corner
 to decide which formulation

 obtains in this case.

poet's biography —>