Love Song from Toothpicks to Marshmallows

myself, a body
air, a gas
thoughts, unnumbered
fetching –

always restless – raw and sand
infinite beck and call
of one air pressure into another (this makes wind)
nature is outside geometry and
(with geometry goes finity so)
infinite direction: a circumference

I am not your contrast
whatever is less or more than you
is not your opposite so
humans, not diametric
are parabolic

as the task of two tensions
a string leads taut into the dark
lay a blue line of chalk

powder, like cellulose suspension
in gas
power like mine
a putty, a picker of pictures

I am pipe too narrow
I am flood too full

a life written on posterboard
a soul in a square foot
an elevator pitch
for a dime

I am proud
to end.