Wisdom is a kindly spirit but does it love me? And righteousness? There's nothing in it. 

1. To poetry I leave my senses, my deregulation, custodial duties, and to be a janitor is great consolation. 

3. To love these children, so full of neurons and consciousness. What joy to clean up and put a shine on their mess. 

5. I leave the voice, the wonder, the mirror , and my lens, bent and beholden to the worm, leaf-work in wrought iron, eerie illuminations and deep-sea vision. 

8. I like it when the gray-green shadows suddenly dayglo over the rushes. The wind in my head. 

12. I send love and weapons to everyone possessed with night visions. 

13. When those green lights flash and blink, is that it? When the 'it' continues strangely for a bit, then falls into line, is it over? 

14. I quantified daily the wonder in the grain. 

15. I found I was over and singular yet many, the many and the singular, the many and the evolutionary, the many in the grain. Many more. 

17. This vision is silly, teenage, and mine, a spot on the negative, a hole in composition. I quantify, I loaf, I wonder, I find, I rev. 

21. In space the letterforms "I love" oscillate in waves. 

27. If you are critical, all the better to see and to miss it, to misunderstand, to fail at empathy and love, to not understand love and to love, to be diseverything and to love, whatever. 

28. To mercy I leave whatever. 

--from 'Aporcrypha'; Peter Gizzi (2011)