45*21

for 5/30/10

what we get hung on
when we are in
the outside world is looking out
so looking in is inside world
viewing the pages of this magazine
I step out within this other passing world
watch it get erased
it's memory passing
many rolls of masking tape
layering the paper mache bird song
If I were a kid I wouldn't be just blind
I'd hold it between the eyes and know
It is birth I'm given
The angles transpose
So now, looking at colors
supposed to know
the leaning of each phrase
the lights they turn on
each another maladaptive misgiving
just obscured by soap
the sentences know