Denise Newman
	Bio   Birdness of Dreams of Who We Were The leafness and thinness dayness I perceive unknowing can speak through things, look closely the lid is off a child with disappearing limbs kept alive by shyness--so I dreamed-- in fogginess to avoid knowing how much of one disappears each day a slender cricketness under the clammy nettle edge of August. The back of the earth getting out of bed mid-dream no mouth to open and divide road-like the pictures flow unbroken as air falls from the blue in the dirt with bugs and pebble bits absorbed into herself--in herness--before the other was fitted on Growing in lightness the birdness of girl watching like scratching blind with an inner sense, he is kindness, a pocket free of death from which to watch their mouthness pushing as plows at an invisible natural order--no pause to pause and silence in When the bits are so small they sparkle. A golden crouching in the dust. Eyelets fastening feelings to oblivion in mirror-tension the spotless dryness of reflection in perfect order kept intact dreaming in the dust nothing is ever lost-- the invisible workings through one called sometimes love driven by it, the faceless darkness of the lake mine reflected dimly on the window, I kiss your shyness, bundling it all up in a watery slip through fingers look before I turn to leap-- We are ripe for ruin.  Yes, eat, eat The Hole We own it all except the holes out them we go scattering like scared rabbits... waiting one's turn to read heart bouncing the tongue shaking the words up (adverbs usurp the verbs) shakily no wonder the plate's dropped you too in pieces held in their fists Don't run rabbit. We'd never hurt you. It is dark in the tree of the heart but the forest has no inside to be pushed out of The whole worthless sky is priceless--A Blue Law not to spend on Sundays we spend them near the hole if only what would you say if your head was on fire? Nothing, as one looks to a mirror and thinks, who? Dry grind against the day dreams trying sort of to remember what I'm supposed to be doing Hunched over syrupy man behind a dirty windshield waving --waving back thinking, I don't even know him What We Deserve The wet skin chilled, fear I may get ill fear deeper than wet--much worse If we talk of death (we don't) we show the workings Rain glazed ever so sleekly down the street--the latest model Desire Guide winking and posturing wildly while you're robbed from behind            Now it comes. Like a curtain of light out of nothing darts off--a long torso shiver            the multiple possible hows who was that: why me (certainly the answer would end the question of God)--Thief! You can ham up the facts for the police all right but quietly in the bed swallowing night            From where did you come?