God serves the choosy. They know what to want.

The time on either side of now stands fast.

Love, we are a small pond.

One way of ending the poem is to turn it back on itself, like a serpent with its tail in its mouth.

To build is to dwell.

Sometimes tradition is a way of keeping going.

Here on the drawing board fingers and noses leak from the air brush maggots lie under if i should die before if i should die in the back room stacked up in smooth boxes like soapflakes or tunafish wait the undreamt of.