not a judge of augur

1.

looking at
your letters
i thought
about
you
- traveling
i then thought,
dreams
must be
the map to work,
work is the
dream come true
the golden
axle
that
bends under its
own
weight-

2.

near a
cannery
plush
with
guts, a dance hall
of gills
reigns,
a cat
that
scrapes at the
moon-
the festival door,
waiting
on the bone shoot,
the
ghost leaver...

(2a.)

the
surf
pierced by the
sting
of
new new
night blue and
if a word was
purple
tonight
it would be filled
to
the
plastic edge with
recyclable
cans,
no paper,
pure aluminum,
a
blue so pure it is a sea
a swan a lake that
disappears
as it
perpetuates a basic map
of the land.