OUSE II
not one day nor ten would sate the Ouse but twenty-one days counting stones Virginia of the waters scars of our dread.
II
mother ushers the water seventy years of fright beauty, yes! the drowning cry of a nonliably bodied blackberry bush.
IV
The quiet of all that was written without language. ROSA FONT
you shell almonds skin stunned fish bursting mouthfuls of cherry a language sheared like thistle bloom dignifying other rivers.
[UNTITLED]
you’re two by the book’s end abandoned at intermission unable to wolf it down short of means and faith as was she you walk away with this failed Ouse in your pocket.