Tony Tost


It heals to not pull blood in
poor silt as it sinks at the foot of a sea

It does not skip off the page
a real dream that does not give us skin
& yet grafts to a neck or head
roof off, sky on. He said
“The new wave is, like my ghost
back in black waves.” The wrong sense
of play. A torch surged & blessed
a small phrase of flame. The mind's knife
knew no want; it still kissed me
dead eye, the mind's still skin of sight
tone deaf tongue. First snow
drift of fleas in the last light
large truck on the hill
I am thin king of the new self
blue lines that cross arms. We pass on
gnats in bits & rags, small cult
be like God. Be on call
myth leads to more myth
a mess, built like blood, by & by

A bell in the night sky. Up
the day shook. You were on the grass
screwed. You were born here
in this aisle. So cold, soul. Sell the pups
sleep in late. June is on. Jack slept
on a rose & woke up. Now
he had signs, juice for his day trip
she loved me for an hour this time
we went to the blue house
to see the brown man cry
what was there was found but not
brought to light. A sex hat
two lone deer. A wall of snow
drugs. At first I missed the view
then her dress, & then (at last) my sense
I could still hear my voice
low & still. As though a field
dead to my lips. The night
cut in half with a choir
& touch is a drug
& those who know how to touch well
will be taught (to be lit)
she stabbed my hand & I woke up
I bit her face & she broke down
the glass we wore we were

So much air. Grieved. A ball
on the roof. Shared doubts
a man made out of thought is
back on the chain, gang. He is our years
stirred air, blue. Beer in the fridge
bugs in the fudge. A tray of meat
speaks. The vague shapes
drag out their knives. What sails out
a plan to dodge these things

Grace comes to the beat
where we stand. Grace takes
out the sneer. In such a mind
one learns what leans
my lad, my hard man in spring
your weeks look cool in the clear
fair words, more flux, a flock
dragged out of wood. A gun that fits
a purse, a real space spun from what
it's real small. It realms all its wants
it has a grip & so on
my push is sent to the best of you
notes on verse in prose & the rest
drop down your wings. Show them off
your sure feet. Our roots shared
in time, not place. Gods are men first
then they are dogs or sounds
the joke is that it kills. The real gig
what that is. I can feel the floor, a flow
I blame the girl. She chews on a mask
as though glass is age is ash
the night looks down & says touch
a long threat. A night moves
for lengths of time I am my hands

To whom I have crawled
In whose sheets I flit

A dish of green things. A sense
of calm in a pose. A new sleep
a hand on her thigh, in the stream
the ink froze. Put it in the boat
no one moves, no one pays at the pump
my eyes. Sex rules. A wet chair
more form. A new judge
it's the play of the mind
in a cage by the shades. It is wed
by the wind to the reed
like veins in a bird of prey
a black robe. The oath was weighed
the toy words were scales
the fries were gold. Aches
& flecks. Moon shakes. Flag
shit. Bent like so much depth
drunk on the drift
clean lines next to God lines
a stag in a pond in a sharp spin
notes. Not of the soul. The soil
as a sun. A death rat. The sun's fan
a sign fall. Look to the sun
clean lines. A fear of the known