it looked so much like the real thing.
dark, hair growing back down there.
Expression: 'hell hounds on my trail',
almost filled our bed,
made of anything, except me
on the sea.
Couples spoke little,
small. It's like
hypnagogic trances of language,
my large magnetic car
after people, those poets wholly
now in these ones we have.
Two loaves of bread, white hands
see a domino going down.