(Nonasyllabics) In retrospect the tragic nature of sea is a taste wept too daily, too depleted by freedom’s rupture; the eyes have other secrets to see

But if they’d give us toys and twi… parents splurge on the average kid… in fact, stacks wrapped with our n… the tree: these sparkling allotmen… guaranteed a lack of—what?—family?…

Here at the height of the day nigh… The color of the sky is uncertain, The sky depending in which directi… One’s eye strains, each of its swa… Hue which dies too soon and which…

'My age, my beast!' - Osip Man… On the lips a taste of tolling we… The light drifts like dust over fa… We wear masks on our genitals You’ve heard of lighting cigarette…

–to S. The light lay in shreds across the… only your waking could make it who… resuming its costume of day, its r… which seems to overnight get ragge…

Our love has chosen its appropriat… Which when viewed in the midst of… It didn’t choose seems almost insi… The gesture our love has chosen is… We both agree not that we have any…

One day we notice that the sun needs feeding. Immediately a crash program begins: we fill ro… with wheat, smoke-rings, razorblad… after long aiming

I’m tired of murdering children. Once, long ago today, they wanted… now I feel Vietnam the place where rigor mortis is beginning to… I force silence down the throats o…

I don’t dare speak too loudly, some timbres could be fatal— that string is not too strong I think: and at times I have to breathe. Or maybe I fear

After your death, Naomi, your hair will escape to be… a round animal, nameless.

Like all children, you were a de f… Member of the Flat Earth Society… Believing nothing but what you cou… Or touch or whatever sense led act… Fruition: mudpies made summer bene…

At your light side trees shy A kneeling enters them

Even if the mountain I climbed Proved to be merely a duncecap It was only on gaining its peak That that knowledge reached me. *

Note: Tomlinson is not only a distinctive poet, but a visual artist of repute. His graphics grace the covers of many of his books. This Homage attempts to imitate his verse style, or ...

If you are still alive when you re… close your eyes. I am under their lids, growing black.