Anti-Sculpture
by Eric Linsker

I just want some oats. The
tenants your thighs
and watch the oats
sit. A sweater
I meant to. Where rounds me.
So that what becomes is getting. My hand is

a revolution. Those are oats
now. It’ll make this easier for everyone.
Pull on some jeans that’s language.
A joint’s a situation.
We’re eating oats.
A field is not
a place. A wheat
is not working.