Speculative Realism

   Today being outside is I’m worried of outsides.

                              To repeat what I said would ask spindle

                              of me. I should make a very poor form of spider.

      A room is an interiority plenty to have windows and a cliff.

                                          Blink once for yes. Twice for very much.

                             Probably a cup of water is an image.

       What are you in study with?

The tower fan warbles along a gray ribbon of air.

                                   Glass I decide is a nonbinary feeling.

                    Manifesto: what begins in attention begins again in speaking.

                                                                                     In spoken to.

I only pray looking up or at lampshades. In a dream

       she had, a friend bought me a tarot deck

              because we’d heard you were

                            supposed to first receive them. Consent

       not to be known.

       Marimba in the windmills. My hand beside you in my overalls.

                                    It is possible the last word Plath wrote was drag

                                    but she wanted it to be spring.

                     Some architects say materials have desired forms.

              Brick grows up as archways. Hips, hourglasses.

In the next world, I want to be something useful.

Like a staple gun. Or in love.

                     The rocks at my altar know obvious things.

                                               Lower limit mountain.

                                               Upper limit door.

I miss her. Blink. Blink.

                      When I press the stick of butter into the skillet,

                                           I have to believe that the body aspires to a soul.

An envy not unique to art that, nevertheless, is art.

                                                                                       Red paint on the wall.

                                                                                       Red paint on the wall.

                                           Lord, we owe this world such tenderness.