Mark Bibbins

Now the sea moves up the lawn for him as those nearby view his life
passing before their eyes. Someone his own age lean in black pants
and a white shirt sits on a plastic chair with a block of massive green
light. Facing of someone else away (bluebird). This is not happening to
him. Unaccountable ejaculation. Briefs halted at the knees alter his
walk. The basement conceals a surplus of chairs while overground the
yards remain square and trimmed to uniform length (clouds). This
was written on his arm. Its words occupy a grid and move among cells
at random with great speed. A car leaves a driveway and exclamations are
made about wood left over and what could make it burn.

…

Stacked circles (rain down) say green it releases nothing. Bundled
wires. Ellsworth Kelly strides from one red iceberg to the next. Each face
projects onto antennae forging a domain expressed as a skewered pod.
Transparency behind a desk elusive plunge. A dissection of thought into
its components the weight of meat up the wrong street the wrong
backdoor. The blazer missed too as the wiry one observed. Someone
slipped him diet Orangina and he went ballistic. The whole staff cray-
oned their names onto the good luck card while unwitting partygoers
waited for the elevator. Mogul and musician separated at birth one
suggested. Hubris. The directions very specific and yet so many stood
idle. She ravished in black. He charmed in lime.