Miles Champion


all anthologies are personal
meaning takes place largely below
a range of shared values
that includes possible conflicts
not by chance but by fact
as discontinuous
a cutting up
or else a putting down
which may begin
labyrinthine or far-out
above an ever-shrinking audience
dozens of televisions
fall to the ground
carved with pagan scenes
seeming to live and speak
in beautiful and compelling
reality: the intaglios
excited by the rainbow
like a cold capsule or jelly bean
out of sight or earshot
in the sense of arguing publicly
putting things together
without the bones and stays
nearly miraculous
on a squat globe
becomes the starting place
of a melancholy description
a new hut added
every other decade
red thyme and sorrel
overrunning the plain
both adjective and noun
balanced midway
at the end of the line


Sketch for Relief

These lines
                             Bare and
Drawn beyond
I check
                             Faults with reverie
They loosen
                             Us out of
Our heads

(for Sophia)


Assorted Frames

Great combo art and money
Thought steeps in rational cans
To fill time with the foreseeable
Night go slip this kiss on fear
That doesn’t quite cover an opening
Ink lines on a pair of lips
To use fingers with other people
That one knows who he is
Brought back hungry from the mirror
The terrible tenure of your breath
Mr Bodylegs calms the area
Form is warm in its breeze’s beams
Do bears think in a clam voice
Decision cantilevers on the perpend
Qwerty sat up in bed in mundane paradise
Go ahead put your food where your mouth is
Seeming dollops of noun-cold sun
Night gestures red over its handbag
Lift the lamp to the verb that gives us more chance
Try behave fatuous linear
The sky clears and now fluffs
Closing the door on a _______
White Shadow wants his brains back
Dagwood’s suburb doesn’t have a name
To jam with the Evil Dead in a jazz club
A warning finger contains this category
Two girls in red run on park paths
Word sleeps on yellow stain
Blonde curls with fire engine lip tone
To marry a happy colorist
Who looks so clear to me I get ideas
To knock things like bells in a frame
Flowers can’t read
The dice are cut open
Words are negatives of the mind’s perception
Lunch calls the nose while studying zen
Lessness as a sort of million
Someone to paint the landing onto the belt
Ma Bell designed the firm’s letterhead
Signs fan breath to tan the stone
Attach this boulder to your helmet
Some phrases are actually germs
Old enough to eat without language
Make it blue (then redden it later)
The e has become a floorlamp seen from above
F-hole in breezy pancake
How many uncovered reeds below freezing
Glass day ticks ensemble plods
Teaspoons wedded to anti-matter
To enter a huge claustrophobic area
Come and eat shouts Kafka
Colors do smell when you edit them
Beer from Holland comes with rubber plugs
Conversation consists of shop talk politics philosophy
Use this rope for a tie
The last vegetables will be unnatural
Syntax is nature’s way of saying whatever
Ignorance is a sunset
Matching the brain’s upholstery
A bent chairback or chain of event
Does this plane work
Dewline stratum pencil cumulus
Hapless wooden rockets
A simulacrum of stars in the workers’ pockets
Hand cream on blistering sun
A spoon’s the first thing that comes into my head
So how many of these things here are books