Here's what you do:
Take what you have -
Make it kindling -
Chop the table,
Smash the chair.
Split the trunk.
Expose the heart.
Build a fire.
Stand within it.
Wait for what flies.
We follow the gull along ocean drive.
Dreams cannot be trusted.
Every beast is driven by hunger - we with an
Instinct for god's own grief (and a place in
Our breast that needs beauty to abide) -
A pigeon smeared across pavement,
With lifted head, strains to rise.
Desire is the mold that longs for the model.
Desire is the model that dreams of the mold.
From the splintered remains of yesterday's ax work
Find in the wood's grain a small bird's eye.