6 Poems
by Thomas Cook

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Strawberry and Mango-Strawberry

Braised Shoulders

Constructionist Lyric (1)

Constructionist Lyric (2)

Questions of Infrastructure

On the Universal Decree of Divine Right to Rule (1)

Strawberry and Mango-Strawberry

Remoteness beds the pushed fence down opined slalom: the chair is here. To slow sinkholes, a jail erected houses hands otherwise cleaning very old and unmoving fish. A reasoning made new in the medium of feathered metals.(2)

This similar difference occupies our sentence animals. I can’t imagine how their hackneyed condition makes gorgeous flicker, again.(3) It might spell an individual into a flexing delivery reached via: when I can be this free, one has to wonder, am I an appearing cause emanating dumber doctrines than matter forgives?

Braised Shoulders

It’s perfectly acceptable you should ask me the meaning of this shoulder. I made it this way for you to use the plug. I took impressionism: I was inscribed within the area being renovated into a foyer. Vermicelli was there, in a middled red sauce. I’ll run to the ATM. Outside is no way to begin.

Brighten the cupholder with a blaze orange recycled kayak.

Locked out of playing bodies with yourself. Charming the sea salts your eyes. I’ve offered the moment of napkin passing, a nacho headcovering. My finger goes quiet over zipcodes, necessary lawn furniture, trunks, very vertical glass and the transmigration of tea bags. (4) Cannery outbuilding number two. Made more palpable: slamming into each other at the witness of interstate highway.

Constructionist Lyric (1)

Enough biasing of the tunnel. The tunnel is a move unto itself. Leave dungeons, incidental torture and our death arranged in a high-rise sex scene out. Could I be a scar? Could I be wrested of kin? I take my sugar directly into the bloodstream. I sometimes don’t want to enter the store. Pieces of the field. I suppose a breath. Holes encounter themselves. Spare enough. The opposite body. The entire demand moving, inspiring whomever. A rapid promise. I’d provoke a barrier image into action, evolving against currency. The coral is dark. I dug this hole to smatter the end of the shovel in dirt.

Constructionist Lyric (2)

The center is the least strategic place to dynamite. I wanted to practice before. You know what stairs do. Street and field touch. A bridge and all night cars underneath it. Happening in the sense. Get back from the cupping. Fortunate the tune beasts so smooth, and we can move together like we’re supposed. I avoiding ladders and finding the right tongue.

Questions of Infrastructure

What alignment morass engages the sidewalk to patches? (5)

What cellbirth, pointillism and material (stacked, cetaceous and precarious above an unfinished flood) begging could an optional sequestered grow? (6)

Long unfinished rises the watershed and spectrums tussle for people in a sting rehearsed by every impossible (hand) bringing water to the mouth. (7)

On the Universal Decree of Divine Right to Rule

In a time of alien dynastic rule (9) —but when else might I be splintered across a dimming coral reef? When else might I slice into countless wet pieces?

Auxiliary concepts like pictures, resistance, and certainty. Each increment edgy. Eyes sink back into the body of trees in the distance from the object. Bone button.

As though in this world a thin line would do. The ability to appear accountale to an other light. Covered with a fine rain, our ears stick. The face of fluids. The cut foot in history. (10)

Every species peripheral like the wood in your head. Be solid inside the image of actual kingdoms: sort seed.


You can lose it in a fire.

2 If a pattern emerges, let a child reproduce, let it encode a wound shifting. Blindsight links up within the porous borders of my jeep.

3 Together, we can make a public circle, a great communication (beyond us) will take place here. Maybe someone will swing a grain sack into the wind? The wind will push it back until it rests? Maybe someone will make a balanced argument and the listeners surrounding will gain both an individual and a collective pleasure from the consideration of both sides of a wild and fantastic articulate?

4 You swing your hand in the natural language of a sound arc.

5 The plaited dizziness of the page, the idea of the permanence of the solitude, horses marshaled, sound in another animal, the espalier, our affections confused and arrived at their source (I would like to join you farther up river) the weather loosened, the ache for a frame, the darkness that interfered with how I hoped to see my dreams (the heart impacts itself), infinity, the notch that survives into the next century as a coppice or usufruct.

6 The earth has deferred to its outermost body. We remain in this uneasy relationship (holding hands) but not in balance—you flounder, for instance, in an account of history that now interpolates you, and I would guess you use the same pitcher for milk. we line up on the coast and skip stones together across the ocean surface, transmit only the essential architecture.

7 Or else how would I warm water? The sun seems to hinge on something. We disappear in favor of an exhaustive volume. A cardinal flies out: fire instead of bedclothes. Linen and artificial light. Let the cold water wash over your food. Understood the same forward and backward. Failed doorways.

8 You can lose it in a fire.

9 You have made camp with a type: gimcrack. You had no idea where to breach: it is hotter than horseflesh. Ride until you have a yogurt: ride until the last feature of the smallest kiln revolving on the mantel burns out: the sun will suck a cherry through a straw. I want to wash in the sound. Slash. You continually build your shape in green. You make absolutely no idea more than the last. Your final gape. Absolutely nothing eating it up. Strange hundred. Scalp.

10 Full music floods the plains and enjoys the anonymous grasses. Interwoven knives in air and synchronicities take back their chemicals and iodize rust, exchanging private lives for certainties, jaws for error.