lava headed deciding

bury my warmth in reading, bury my wit

in nicety, hone in to a homing, a burying,

if to focus, why do I see vials of it, oh,

you say concentrate, how many vials

of focus in a day and will you tell me when

I have one in my hand, or I'll break it,

remedy my flightiness, hum my melodic

air of distraction, bury my ancient melody

in the yummy mob, the mob that churns

into a concentration, invert my lookabout,

eyeballs that waggle in their cozy nooks,  

their ruby, bury my rosy in my ruby, bury

my sophie in coffee, sam in my mongoose,

bury gus in my bunny, hymn the clink

the chug of daily eating, reeling, rustling

the mob a molten entitity, the mosh a wish

ponder the lily, how she goes, neither does she gild

lilypads, what do they

touch like, slimy? we like

them speaking about the surfaces,

the sunlike either to build a catch

to see the pond floor past, or

the sun to make a mirror

to see the lily flowers each twice

how we like this nice difference,

switched lilies, the pad wired

subliminally to the pond floor, how

we like to be upstairs from ponds,

looking down like at a lily chandelier

top and to see the fish from here

glitzing like guests like we

are the privileged children to watch

them in their mysterious like lines

which unseen move them along

I'll like to put my foot like lilypad

just on top of the view, wet

but not in, not washed but neat

and rest my lily weight on it

engage the pleasure of not being there

but not being absent either, pond

and my pads and no print and chafes

the glass to repetitive protest yet

then is still yet not without response

to soon for reading upward up the page, have you

lost sight of what books are, no but books have changed,

I can feel my mind's eye flattening and lightening

and I view words on it (darkening) they say: no, save

what they say—my face faces this while, looking light

brightened by it, blue, the light looks wet on skin

when soft, looks cold on bony nose, the screen has no

singing then sings, no drumming then it drains

no symphony then it makes a solitary sky like bows

of one rain or like the way my eye meant windows

to mean but didn't, plastic we taped up to save heat

also saves transparency, I see the plastic stick and I see

draft through the glass as billow, la, I'd like to live alone

and have no one to talk to, la, I'd like you to live here

available that I could watch you, if I weren't here

I'd look on freely and you would be fine, I see me seem
sightless and realize that while I speak I'm reading