A Probe of Weight, Circles of Life

Belly roll-
up flailing

the flail
flesh, fiend

and/or friend
keeping warmth,

kept warm--
dumb and dumb,

lackluster.
I don't

know it /
you never

taught me--
dead still,

chilled grounds,
hallowed,

purpled,
patterned--

quilt in window
movies of Amsterdam,

red lights bubbling
up, illicit cherries,

growth of length,
bottles of ounces

flailing arm or
fat conductor up

toward single heaven,
Baby, where wildist

things are, but not
thin cubes--they

grappling fingers /
pocketing pennies--

stuffied accents
(mad scientist

machine garbel,
elongated,

brittle like nails,
dead too, like the

squirrel's death--
brains smashed

on the pavement; or
the death of a jay,

its brains smashed
where you won't find

'em, dripping deep

down into
wet dark suction,

tree hollows,
nestbottoms, eggs

onto a frying pan,
into a steam, dead

all the way back
down, dust and mold.