ELIO IANNI

SALTY TONGUE AND FORGOT TIME

PLUNGED INTO REMEMBER

THERE IS NO STORY

TORN UP IN THE MANGER OF WAR AND PLAGUE

SPUN IN ANIMAL HABITS

THE SAW OF HISTORY IS SOME OTHER TRUTH

HALF DEAD AND YELLOWING

A ROTTING THAT BRINGS YOU TO TEARS

RUSTING THE BOOKS

I WENT OUT ACCIDENT BY ACCIDENT

SUN BEGINNING TO DROWN THIS SUNDAY TOO

FILING DOWN THE NAIL WHERE I PUT WATER TO THE WHEELS

THERE IS NO ORGAN IN THE BODY CALLED A MIND

DEVIOUS MUSICAL METAPHORS

CONVINCED OF ANYTHING I TOO COULD BE REGULAR

WRITHING IN THE SHAPE OF MURMURATION

IT COULD BE SAID ONE LIVES TOO MUCH AND IS CRUSHED BY THIS

LET ME BE A MESS BEFORE YOU GAZE ANY DEEPER

MY REFLECTIONS DO NOT GO THERE BUT STOP AT SINGING POORLY

THIS MORNING’S SCREED SO FRESH IT’S WARM

DRAWING IS NEITHER HERE NOR THERE

SILLY AS BELIEVING IN A LIFE OTHER THAN THIS UNDULATING

A TAMBOURINE ACTING OUT OF CHARACTER

THE BRILLIANT INVENTION OF SHADE AND ITS SWEATY ROOTS

LOOKING AT THE CURES I AM STILL A CONFUSION OF REFERENCES

YOU CAN’T FOOL THE BREEZE OR A KNIFE