Clara Burns

ii

Twelve hours of semi-darkness in a box shut with white glue a few stars & the blood seals, it doesn’t open without yes the full daylight. Broad bars pour concrete-wise, heavily liquid to flip switch on, on Greene Street, on TV, on front porch crammed with bicycles & bare back draped along narrow stone step, you mastered. A light touch. Gypsies don’t hold a candle to that wax, bonehead you never guessed long sleeps in screened-in porch, sirens, yard full of bleak rose bushes. No taste.

Clear Sailing

Start here it’s in the instructions for basket-weaving then along for oh about six miles hillside of oaks. You couldn’t have done it better or at least I wouldn’t tell you if I knew. There are a number of stop signs, signs in general or symbols or significator others somewhere in the box, keep looking. There are no crackers left but the cheese is good on oatmeal, if not burnt. Capital orchestra ocean for advent of calendars this year it’s looking good, just don’t go too far. South. In another three or four minutes you’re through—a prize!