What Is Hard To Avoid/scott keeney

I like goat's milk. Do you

like almonds, dust of morning,

which rhymes with guts of clocks,

meow, meow, meow?

I have studied some goodbyes

myself. In August winter,

the objective

dreams of science, the lest

we sift

of dirt—some wind in the eye.

Picture a goat’s wide oblong pupils, wise as an onion, unbroken as prose.

Wheel and handle, thumb in

the air. Oh, here is who

I am—what I wanted to say

was wordless. Here, kitty, kitty,

rub your skull against my knee.

For tomorrow will fall, the apple of us all.