joe mullen

The ceiling fan wobble of seagulls
over the rainbow sticky bay
from here I can see the final match
each bounce of the tennis ball
growing louder with the blue noise
my soft hands over the kitchen trash
removing the bones from tiny fish
perhaps that is why I am bleeding
sloppy piercings falling out
with the infinite click of my knee
shaking out at dinner when I take a bite of beef pie
the lower gut being the site of consciousness
and consciousness being shared among all beings
my own piece loosening each day with
the ice sheet crunchy pink lettuce rain
coming down in the sand, each droplet
an impulse to plant an explosive buy
something cotton blue longsleeve stringy
blown out jeans crotch cat’s eye on stringy
pothos chains dying on the teak shelf
every moment on the shiny foil ladder
trying to turn myself into a source of clean water
so that I might break the karmic cycle
spring forth once more from the field of brains