Elizabeth Willis, p.1


sleeps into heaven with his lamps on, finishing explanatory negotiations for a while. Deserting the enemy. Star formations, sandstone understanding, rock time in general, whatever, Latching onto ecstasy (words that change on waking), clover as a syrup of spring mind. Working off a defecit of sleep or cash. You know who your friends are. Singled out in traffic, lurching into light, having lunch. You're a little one with sand in your eyes, with green on your horn, with milk on your chin. With flowering ears and hearsay.