unfinished syllogism
		Consider it done,
		       a palace of over
		  turnings, a place
		outfitted in missed spit spelled
		            dislocationary - one
		letter knocked loose, a tooth
		        licked slack - a ruse

		of argument
	         		ground down
    		to powder in the face
		of the powderless


		_unfinished syllogism_
		If there had been a fabric
		came ripped & then stitched up
		to naysayers tender
		in battle - switching sides,
		a dressing down outside
		the bounds' wounds
		of demarcation, speaking before
		being broken in two - as in
		gauzy nausea
		blotted in common then
		divided - to be eaten
		with set teeth - gapped
		capped & tested unbreathing
		over tours & lapses, broken & returned
		to the sender - 

		_u. s._
		Every theme song is themselves
		a dream: an ice breaker quarries
		spings and spangs of starry chips
		& minor premise spells
		the obvious, stirred to death - 
		drinks to glitzy unions on the rocks
		just pointed sore. A fair
		amount of blood
		letting it splash up
		on the beach's screen; the meeters
		who can't stand to leave
		their meeting, & the dealmakers
		mistaking misgivings
		for a gift outright 


		This meal is a collapse
		of intentions to share needs
		freely, between persons
		diverted from the origins of
		"messy" appetite - all meals are gone
		unable to keep separate
		these words make us laugh.
		The loss is shit,
		reconvened under the oaken table
		where lie crumbs of togetherness,
		purview, system. It's
		raining outside. It all.

		So when the contused
		becomes audible, lips
		of wounded indecision press
		together - bright blue
		seams for the meantime - 

		then hesitate, poised
		apart for the word
		of the future
		in the all
		or nothing situation
		it's all you think of
		nothing but