Root-Cellar to Riverine

by Tod Thilleman

People are moving effectual distance Inhabiting self owns nothing’s purpose—sound’s hearing Allays death’s headache. Night consumes all men. Trajectory’s belief Rises in Xiasm unseen becoming Ear-infected lessening toward banners unfurled Preteritic loss. Traces have moved marking nothing, saving Learning’s expensive habit untold, thus We are vitalic relation omni-presentable! Sound’s straitjacket whited offense Nothing’s bark won’t give death’s grip. We move through Opposing justice Thus find a wood nothing composes, for instance A bench. Nations over matter descended to view Then shrugged proposal by smashing its atom. History’s trace begs forgiveness Calling all sound’s dupeable Doable tyrannosaurus.

76 pages, Paperback

First published August 1, 2009