No, soft. in love.

excited to see what it does.

         as
 I note again        
           my attempt to be

                                 softened by time and
                   leather. Multicolored, a yew, yellow.

Blue lights come on. Cuteness abounds.
Flirty cartoons deliver safety instructions.
I’m wondering about that style in Taiwan more generally
where pink signs covered in hearts designate women
waiting alone at night and garbage trucks play Für Elise.
I’m reading a New Yorker article about civil forfeiture:
 

                                                                 US v. one pearl necklace
                                                        US v. 64,695 pounds of shark fins

                   US v. $6,000.37

A piece of property doesn’t share the rights of a person,
A piece of property doesn’t shave.

                            the police had confiscated a simple gold cross that a
                            woman wore around her neck
                            after pulling her over for a minor
                            traffic violation

that’s an example of                

                   “policing for profit,” she says.   “siddown!” “sit in your car for
uh, fifteen minutes”               “ma’m? ma’m?”           “yew tell that bitch to shudd-up.”
 

         So do I smile?

I touch my papers.
On edge of illness and mood y in one day.
A new wind faces the street.
A man stops his moped where I’m drinking coffee on a bench.
He sits slumped, round and follows me for thirty minutes
stopping wherever I stop, staring dead-faced in a landscape like this:


In 1976, Leslie Scalapino, age 32, wrote:
Satisfied this morning because I saw myself
(for the first time) in the mirror as a mountain. I mean by this
I “saw the scenery in myself” whereas I had eyes
and veins and a brain, I was a mountain in the same way
one has boulders or trees. How would this explain, I wondered,
whatever emotions, such as affection, cruelty or indifference
and I knew no matter how careful one is,
pebbles and grains will be modified put in a human form.

                                               It’s not our shared interest
                                                        so much as Poem in the Shape of Bread

                            I must be orange and green according to what I see.

                                                      
                                               boy crazy and wanting      p
                                                                                       e
                                                                                              t

                                                                          
                                                                                             miniature

                                                                                                       p
                                                                                                          i
                                                                                                           g s

                            But  I        
                                                                 take this 2 weeks
                                            
                                                                           and make due


                          as I move west (not true) and toward more familiarity (a lie) I  feel
         more like myself. I kick and imitate the plane
                                                        the Black Sea
                                                      is blue and requires a voice over