Technological
investments are discouraged
by low labor costs.

A bowl of small stones
recalling lakewater waves
so cold in my hand

Involute tiers of
elaborate emptiness
guard a simple point.

The future is quite
possible, maybe even
inevitable.

People remember
and fit their recollections
to their suffering.

Keeping late hours, I
meet my stranger neighbors. They
can say the same thing.

Data that change our
account of uncertainty
are informative.

Carefully scheduled
curated moving walkways
snake through the garden.

Knock knock. Who's there? Hai.
Hai who? No, haiku. It's a
syllabic verse form.

generational
armature of forgetting
memorialized

A blue neon wave
crests the vacant shops' facade.
At night, it's still lit.

Decoy smorgasbords
lure predators to dead ends:
damming with feigned preys.

Still unmelted pools
by banking boulevard dams
made dangerous smooth.

In the markets, such
wonders! It's a shame they have
been capitalized.

Over there past that
there there is that that is past.
That's over. That's that.

Patience. In due time,
as a signal to others,
we will burn this bridge.

"Shut my eyes and make
a film, and the star of it
is Photo Jenny."

I release an egg
into a bowl, from the bowl
I release the egg.

The ratio of
the circumference to the
diameter: π.

Let x equal 3.
Update x as sin x plus
x. Keep updating.

To get Bayes' rule from
the multiplication rule
exchange the events.

Branching paths surround
the yearly wayfinding teams
sounding out old songs.

Not per dag by miles,
but on the other hand two
outta three ain't bad.

A shame I mostly
notice women I don't talk
to if they're pretty.

Ah, coincidence:
That there is some John Jacob
Jingleheimer shit.

Gardening seems so
mysterious and would be
except that things die.

Knock knock. Who's there? Boo.
Boo who? Oh, quit yer cryin'.
It's only a joke.

Bangle the phone lines
with dance slippers! Come out and
paint the town lipstick!

Looking closely, look
again, though looking again
means looking away.

Something is changing.
Something is always changing.
We notice sometimes.

Schools are terrible
places for learning, except
by comparison.

How real is the line—
such order depends on it—
bordered and boundless.

Repeat and repeat
all our ritual errors
again and again.

The river sings to
the bridge, and the bridge sings back
the river its song.

The larger the space,
the more room for surprises,
but you have to look.

I was aiming for
something very subtle and
I have missed the mark.

Such quiet such nights
in the cold of cold winter
the world is itself.

For Paul Halmos

It's not hard to write
without thinking about the
alphabet, just wrong.

"He drew upon the
blackboard, for all to see, the
streptococcus chain."

How precarious
these many tiny footsteps
in the cold cold cold.

My neighbor wonders
why his dog always climbs the
high snow banks to shit.