PETER SCHWARTZ

 

4TH

 

every three or four days I put myself

under quarantine; I withdraw from this

weird world

like a bat

 

I lay down my eleventh bone--my pencil's

view and kiss, kill any anthem on my lips,

and sandbag

 

the reddest parts of my half of

the calendar, I let the hours

go like kites...

 

ZOO

I fell asleep with a hint of anesthesia on my lips.

abandon, abominable, absolute...

 

before long the night dug a canoe out of my skull

and filled it with the strangest perfume,

and fruit...

 

a stanza of ash; entity

on its purest axis.